Star from the Start
by halleyjo
Summary: She was never remarkable or extraordinary…with time and maturity, she’d come to realize she was simply eccentric. But perhaps being different isn't always such a terrible thing when one knows those who are just as strange…
1. Birth

A/N: Here's the prequel to my other story, A Song for Someone Special. It's about Gwen's life; from birth to the time Kurt began living at the mansion. I'd describe more, but you could also just read it. Yay! Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: Don't own the X-Men. I never will. Get over it.

Star from the Start

Chapter One

With the lightest flick of cloth on Ray Noveau's skin, she'd wake up. She'd never been a deep sleeper. She had to draw her curtains tight at night, shut her bedroom door completely closed, and block any light that may escape into her dreams, be it from a crack in the skylight or the moon itself, just to get some rest. But it never was much.

Tonight, though, she had let the cool summer breeze permeate through her slightly open window. It whipped the ends of her drapes gently.

Ray only did that because she knew she wouldn't get any sleep that night. An unborn baby's feet were stomping too hard on the inside of her belly.

At fifteen, she knew she was way too young to be experiencing that sort of thing. But it would be over in a couple of months, when the little girl (she was sure of it) came, and the dad – who had started out as her history professor at her stupid prep school – was given custody. Then she'd move to New York, and she and her family would forget all about it.

At least, that's what her father had decided. She had no say. She was A Minor.

In the midst of her reverie, the intense kicking suddenly stopped, and she breathed a sigh of relief, letting her tense body relax into her mattress. At that exact moment of peace, the thumping began again, and she swore she could hear the baby laughing at her.

Ray growled uncomfortably and gave herself a hard rap on the stomach where she had felt the last jolt.

"Damn it," she moaned. Every part of her was sore and tired. Her throat, usually clear and ready for her voice lessons, raked against her words. Even her legs, her best asset, had become swollen and raw.

Sighing, she sat up straight, staring at the blinding white crescent in the sky. Suddenly, Ray realized it was probably the most beautiful thing she'd seen for a long, long time. She wanted to touch it, or maybe even grab it for herself.

Desiree Ishiyu Noveau was the daughter of a French photographer and his native Japanese wife. However, she had been raised in America for as long as she could remember. They never stayed in one place for too long, though, because of her dad's work. She had lived in Boston since the beginning of tenth grade, for almost a year.

It had started with an innocent crush on her history teacher, Sigfried Wagner. His pale skin shared such a good contrast with his dark curls, and his accent was - as her friends described - adorable. Ray had decided to get his attention by asking for extra help on the curricular. What could possibly be the harm of a little one-on-one time?

It turned out quite a bit. They had liked each other so much, maybe even began to love, before she figured out that she had gotten pregnant. It was most likely during January (while they were "studying" the Roman empire). For a while, no one had really noticed. It looked like she might have gained a couple pounds, but it was nothing more grave than the superficialities of high school.

Ray's mom soon recognized a few of the signs, after three months. "You sick," she said, struggling through her imperfect English. "Who do this to you?"

Try as she might to cover it up, everything soon slipped out. Her dad had been angrier than she had ever seen when he was told. It was scary as hell. But the worst happened when Sigfried was summoned to court.

The jury had convicted him of statutory rape, despite Ray's testimony, and he had been sentenced to sixteen months in jail. They weren't allowed to see each other. Sometimes it made her cry at night, which was odd. She was always the brave girl.

Ray stood up and wobbled over to her window, her eyes still on the moon. It was a spectacular night.

The baby kicked again, almost as if in agreement. "Hey, kiddo," Ray murmured affectionately, letting her breath puff onto the glass.

It wasn't fair, she thought. God, she wanted her baby. She'd hold her when she cried; she'd wake up to feed her. Screw every dream she had. Ray would rather have her daughter. Like anyone cared. "How're you doing?"

The response wasn't a stomp of a baby's foot, but instead a horrible stabbing pain that came in from every side. Ray felt her face contort in surprise agony.

"Ow. Ow!" she cried, clutching her inflated stomach and doubling over as far as she could. Now what terrible thing was happening?

"Mom! Dad! Help!" Ray screamed as loudly as she could.

**St. Cloud's Hospital, Emergency Room**

Ray shook her dark brown hair out of her face as she felt a nurse's hand grab her shoulders to try and push her struggling frame down onto the stretcher.

"No!" she screamed, trying to punch the doctor down by her legs. It didn't come close to him at all.

"Desiree, you have to relax," he told her through his surgical mask, fixing his rubber gloves.

"Don't do ANYTHING to me!" Ray shouted, managing to sit back up. Another sharp pain racked through her entire body. She moaned. "Don't call me Desiree, either! Tell me what's happening!"

"We're going to perform a Caesarean section on you. I've explained it to you already."

"It's too soon, though. She's not coming for another two months!"

"No," the nurse holding her said, in a manner that would have calmed anyone else down. Ray angrily turned to face her. "The baby's coming now. If you lie down, I can give you the anesthesia."

"I don't want it. Get off me." Ray started to shake her off, looking around the room in fear. It was filled with men and women in surgical gowns, all of them getting ready to operate on her. She wished she could see their faces, but the mandatory visors covered them.

One of them, with wire-frame glasses, rolled over a tiny table. It was covered with scalpels, all varying in size.

Looking back on it, Ray guessed that that was probably when she heard the first voice. She was gripped with terror, unable to cry or make any sound, when she noticed that someone was speaking something slightly different than the medical lingo surrounding her.

"I know these types of girls. They usually don't end up in the delivery room, if you know what I mean. At least this one will learn." Ray looked around, trying to see who was talking. No one's mouth was moving, except for the doctor who was still trying to get her to calm down.

"Hey-" she sputtered, as the nurse caught her off guard and pressed her back down. "What the hell?"

"Idiot girl." This time the words were in the same tone as the woman's, but Ray was staring her right in the face and she knew she hadn't spoken.

Suddenly she realized that the doctor was trying to figure out which of the smaller knives to use on her, and that the man coming towards them with a strange pump-like device had followed her court case and thought she was spoiled, and only person besides her that wasn't a surgeon was an old man that was having a heart attack at that very moment.

"I can hear-" she gasped, but was cut off when something hard and plastic was pushed over her face.

"Count backwards from ten," the nurse said, and this time Ray could see her lips move beneath her mask.

She was completely out five seconds later.

**Two Days Later**

Ray stared through the plastic box, trying to make sense of everything that happened since she had been watching the moon that night. It was the worst time of her life, she had decided.

She was standing in the incubator room of the hospital, alone for the first time in almost three days. Since she had gone there, the doctors had cut her open, drugged her, refused to let her leave her bed, argued with her father, listened to her mother wail, and put her daughter in a warm box, designed to keep premature babies alive. There was a hole in it just large enough for Ray's hand to fit through, so she could touch her. She hadn't done it yet.

After several fights, the nurses had agreed to let her see the baby. It had drained almost all of Ray's willpower to win. But now that she was there, something was missing.

The empty space was filled, however, with the sound of the door opening and closing, followed by heavy footsteps. Ray turned around, feeling herself grin for the first time in what felt like ages.

"Hey, Fred," she said.

Sigfried had finally come, albeit in hand- and anklecuffs. A guard was with him. He waddled over to her, looking apologetic.

"Hello," he replied, glancing down at her. He hadn't shaved in a while. "Sorry for the chains. It was the only way they would let me come." Sigfried frowned. "You look sick."

"Yeah, I know." Ray broke his stare and went back to the baby. "There she is," she announced with as much cheer as she could muster. He studied her for the longest time.

"Our child. Amazing," he stated at last.

Ray sighed. "It is, isn't it?"

Everything about their daughter was tiny. Her fingers, her toes, even her nose. Her threadlike blue veins showed through her pale, paper-thin skin. She looked limp as she lay on her back, her limbs carefully positioned by the people that took care of the babies. Her eyes were shut from the simple exhaustion of being alive. The best feature, however, was the few stubborn little black curls that were scattered over her scalp.

"Poor kid looks like hell right now," she muttered. Sigfried pursed his lips in disagreement.

"I think she's wonderful. She looks like you." Now he was looking back at Ray, who was confused by his last statement.

"No, she doesn't."

"Ja. She does. Look at her nose." This time, she could her a smile in his voice.

"Thanks," she murmured, reaching out for his hand. The guard grabbed it before she could, though.

"No touching," he said in a low growl. Ray pulled her arm back from him roughly, and heard Sigfried whisper something in German that she knew wasn't complimentary.

"Do you want to leave?" the guard snapped. Sigfried focused on his daughter, glowering.

"No."

"Then stop."

What a dickhead, Ray mused. She considered telling Sigfried about hearing everyone's thoughts in the emergency room, but something told her not to.

Instead, she said: "I think you're allowed to touch her." She faced the guard. "Is he?" Ray asked in a voice she knew sounded bratty. Sigfried didn't wait for a response. He followed her suggestion and stroked the little girl's cheek, holding both hands up to the hole.

"My mother's going to watch her until I can leave the prison," he informed Ray.

"I don't want to talk about this right now," she told him quickly. He scowled sympathetically.

"Lieb, we need to."

"I wish I didn't have to leave." Ray felt her voice catch slightly, and turned away.

"So do I. But it's going to happen." He breathed out slowly. "What do you want to name her?"

Ray had been thinking about this for the past few days, and she was ready with a response. "I want her first name to be Gwen, or Gwendolyn. Whatever. It means 'fair.' And her middle name should be Pixie, because she's so small. Her last name is Wagner, I guess."

She didn't see him, but she knew Sigfried was nodding. "All right. It's a good name."

"Thanks." Ray felt tears beginning to sting the inside of her nose. "You'll tell her about me, right?"

"Yes." He sniffed, and she knew he was in the same state as she was. "Are you going to touch her?"

"Yeah. Yeah, move your hand."

Little Gwen's skin had the same texture as warm milk. Ray felt a tear slip out from her eye. She wiped it away before Sigfried could see.

When she reflected back on it later in life, she would still remember that moment as being the saddest of her life. Sometimes, during a hot, sleepless night, like the one where Gwen had made her first appearance, Ray would feel the phantom silk of her daughter's skin, and be reminded of the only time they had ever spent together.


	2. Prison

A/N: Hey there. I'm fifteen officially today. GO ME!

I still don't get to drive a car till I'm eighteen, though.

Thanks to the reviewers, Certh and Jinxeh (I AM a RENThead! I LOVE Malcolm in the Middle with a passion!), and Opal Witch, even though that review was for my other story. I lurve you all and send you a virtual cupcake, topped with a gummy worm (which I'm actually enjoying at this moment).

Disclaimer: Don't own the X-Men. I only wish I did.

Chapter Two

Sigfried felt his eyelids flutter uncontrollably open and shut as he readied himself for the pain that would undoubtedly make its appearance in the next few minutes. God knew how long he had been out of it, and he prayed that his comatose position had only been in play for a few hours. Judging by the imprint his body had made on the rough mattress he had been sleeping on, however, it had been much, much longer. Sigfried tried to talk or even just moan, but only the slightest breeze passed through his lips. Sitting up, let alone walking out of the room, was clearly out of the question.

Through his lashes, Sigfried could see dim humanoid figures moving across the harsh lights shining above. Before he could react, one of them bent down and studied his face. Suddenly, dark eyes the same shade as a cloudy night sky materialized before him, soon followed by thin lips and a pointed nose. All of the features were obviously feminine.

"He's awake," announced the woman, and the figures began racing about hurriedly. Their noise, although Sigfried realized that it was simply a few conversations taking place at once, was deafening. He grimaced, and then allowed his eyes to open completely.

It felt as if every inch of his flesh had been taken off of his skeletal frame and taped back on. As strength gradually streamed back into his body, he sat up shakily. The woman, dressed in a pure white coat that stood out against the gray pallor of the walls, pressed her freezing stethoscope to his bare chest. Sigfried shivered.

"How long has it been?" he asked in a choked whisper, the greatest volume he could manage at the time.

"A little over a day," she replied, not looking up. "Unfortunately, your fellow inmates refused to tell us where your missing appendage is. The working theory is that it was flushed away. However, we do know that they stole the clippers from our janitor." Now she raised her tired eyes to meet his bright blue ones. "I'm sorry. We've sewed up your foot. There's a chance of infection, but we'll monitor you to prevent it as best as we can. Your mother and child should be here momentarily. Stay here." The woman turned and walked away, grabbing a chart on the nearby desk as she did. Her movements had the exhausted motion of someone who had spent most of their professional life divulging information that would undeniably change their lives for the worse. Shuddering, he nearly buckled under a wave of compassion. At least he didn't know what it felt like, exactly. There was only the occasional failing grade or angry parent.

Oh, and the illicit romance with a girl more than a decade his junior that resulted in a premature baby and a jail sentence. But other than that, he had it pretty nice.

Sigfried only had half a year left in prison. It had been a rough time, though. Despite his lawyer's assurances, it turned out that what they said was true: the inmates did not take kindly to those who committed crimes against children.

The angry tension between him and his fellow convicts had been building up for several months. Being behind bars was humiliating enough, but the irate, accusing words of those around him made it all the worse. Sigfried had never fought back, however. Instead, he tried to talk his way out of it.

This time had been dreadfully different. They had created a plan, and it took place during a spare moment when the guards had been otherwise occupied. Everyone, it seemed, had gathered together and taken turns delivering harsh blows to every part of his body. When they had finally knocked him to the ground, somehow they had pressed him down, taken off his shoe, pulled out a hidden pairs of large wire cutters, and...

Well, apparently the large toe from his right foot was now making its journey through the underground plumbing beneath the penitentiary out to the ocean nearby. It wasn't pleasant to think about.

Sigfried had passed out soon after, and was carried to the prison's makeshift hospital. From there, he had been pumped full of morphine and scrutinized by doctors that thought he was a disgusting excuse for a father, and even a human being. It almost gave him a sense of relief to know that he had been totally unconscious during that time.

As he ran his fingers through his hair, trying in vain to give himself some semblance of the order he was so accustomed to, the door of the room opened. A guard held open the entrance, and through it came his mother.

Mary Swashek was getting on in her age, but she was still considerably beautiful. Tall, graceful, with a special air famous for making heads turn in her direction, Sigfried's father had married her more as a competition than a union of love. Unfortunately, this sort of act had not been out of the ordinary for the man. Very few were sad when he died.

In Mary's arms, she held his tiny daughter. Although she had grown ever since she was allowed out of the incubator, she was significantly smaller than other children her age. Her skin had taken on a yellowish tinge, but it wasn't noticeable unless you were actually looking for it.

Sigfried had made one error in the process of letting his mother take custody of the girl: Mary had gotten to the birth certificate first, and his daughter was now Sigfreda Gwen Wagner. He had had to argue for quite a while to force his mother to give up on the middle name.

Mary surveyed the room before she even approached her son, sniffing. "What happened?" was the first thing she asked him.

Sigfried crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed his hands over his biceps, in an effort to warm himself up. "Toe," he muttered, and finally brought himself to look at his foot. He immediately wished he hadn't.

Mary glanced down at it, purely unaffected in her bizarrely stoic way. "What did you do to it?"

"Not me." Sigfried held out his hands, and without another word, the woman gave him the baby.

Sigfreda was sucking happily on a pink pacifier, kicking her legs gently as she took in the new environment. Through some primal instinct, she recognized her father and dropped her mouth wide in acknowledgment. The pacifier fell onto the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. Rather, she cooed in quiet joy. Her deep blue eyes were making the transition to a dark brown.

"Hello," he whispered to her, cradling her in his arms. Sigfreda reached her tiny fist up to his face, trying to grasp his new beard and squawking in indignation when she realized she wasn't able to. It wasn't very often that he got to hold her, and it made the situation more bearable. Sigfried kissed her forehead.

"She is not like that all the time," Mary said, staring evenly at him. "She does not go to sleep until one in the morning. I think she does it on purpose."

"Sigfreda? No..." Sigfried rubbed her slender belly, chuckling softly as she broke into a toothless grin.

"She stares me in the eyes for four hours. Then when I put her in her crib, she starts crying." Now Mary's voice had a hint of frustration.

"Not on purpose."

"No other babies do things like that. I cannot wait until you get out. Then you can stay up with her."

"Fine." Sigfried wasn't in the mood for this sort of conversation. Spending time with his mother could get annoying very quickly. It was worth it to see his daughter, though.

Mary grimaced, then kneeled down next to the bed to pick up the pacifier. "When do you get out, Sigfried?" She stood up, wiping the rubber end on her dress.

"Six months." He held out the hand of the arm that wasn't supporting Sigfreda's body, and Mary dropped the pacifier into it. "Perhaps four." And then, finally, this would all be over and he'd start his new life, free of fighting and bars.

His mother snorted. "That's much better," she told him sarcastically.

Sigfried shifted his gaze from Sigfreda to the older woman. "What?" he inquired, feeling the tiny seed of anger being planted in his head.

"You realize how humiliating this little-" she appeared to be struggling for a word – "thing is for everyone in your family?"

He felt the seed spring up without warning. "What am I supposed to do about it?" he snapped, suddenly feeling the drugs wear off in his vigor.

"She was a child," Mary spat out at last.

"I am aware of that." Sigfried turned his daughter in closer to his body, holding her head upright in the cleft of his shoulder. The girl drooled in oblivious content, and he pressed the pacifier between her lips. "I have no idea what else to tell you. We have discussed this several times. I did not plan it."

"You were an idiot. Why did you do that to a fifteen-year old?"

Sigfried narrowed his eyes. "Why did you marry my father? That had bad consequences too."

"Yes. He divorced me and married someone forty years younger than him." Her final smile wasn't one of amusement, but of triumph. "I suppose that habit runs in the family."

It was constantly like this. Her sniping, his utter lack of responses. It was growing tiresome, and she was pushing his buttons. Sigfried could, of course, ask her to leave, but she'd have to take Sigfreda with her, and he never knew when Mary would get over their fight. Sometimes it took weeks, and that was an extremely long time to wait to see his daughter.

Instead, he ignored her previous comment, and allowed the baby to grab his fingers. Mary stood in front of them for a few minutes, trying to provoke him a couple more times, and then, reluctantly, she simply stopped and stared at her son and granddaughter.

"I am so sorry," he whispered to Sigfreda, who had yet again let her pacifier drop from her mouth, "but I am afraid you have to put up with crazy people for the rest of your life now."

Mary frowned angrily. "I heard that."

Sigfried couldn't resist. "I know." He felt a vindictive pleasure as his mother's face turned red, but it soon changed to loss as she grabbed the baby away from him. As she walked away without a word, Sigfreda began whimpering, but Mary ignored her and marched out of the door.

Sitting in the hospital of the prison, Sigfried Wagner waited for his life to begin again, waited for control to ultimately come back to him.


	3. Make Believe

A/N: Hey dudes and dudettes. Sorry these updates take so long. NEVER go to schools where they give you tons of homework.

Disclaimer: Don't own the X-Men. I do, however, own Sigfreda/Gwen, her grandmother, and her dad.

Chapter Three

"Vati! Wake up! Wake up!"

Sigfried groaned, wincing as Sigfreda jumped up and down on his hip. "Mmm...lieb, get off." He rubbed his eyes and sat up in his tiny bed, reaching over for the glasses on his nightstand. His daughter had moved over so that she was sitting next to him.

"Morning!" she announced cheerfully. Sigfried, although exhausted – he had only gotten five hours of sleep the night before – smiled down at her. She beamed back.

"I'm going to work with you today," she told him, wriggling herself into his embrace.

"Are you?" he asked playfully, kissing the top of her head. "What time is it?"

"Seven. Liam's coming too, right?" Sigfreda stood up on his mattress, walking unsteadily over to the edge of the bed frame and jumping onto the floor delicately.

"Yes. We'll get him in a little while." Sigfried kicked off his blanket and swung his legs out, ignoring the tiny cry of pain that came from his four-toed foot. "By the way, the gas is off again, lieb. I'm afraid your shower will be cold for a few days."

Sigfreda moaned loudly. "Nooo..." She grabbed his hand and pulled him into their small kitchen. "Can I have the cocoa cereal today?"

"All right."

"Good," she chirped brightly, forgetting all about the prospect of a cold shower. "What are you going to have?"

"Erm..." Sigfried murmured, letting his voice trail off as he poured milk into a bowl. There wasn't anything much more besides the cereal, and if he was going to pay the gas bill, he needed all of the money he got from his job. He just didn't have to eat for a bit. "Here." He set the bowl in front of Sigfreda, who wrinkled her nose in sympathy as she realized that he wasn't planning to have breakfast. She ate while Sigfried took a quick, painfully freezing shower and got dressed.

When he left the bathroom, he began searching for the mandatory vest he had to wear as a movie store clerk, the only place that would willingly take him after he had been listed as an...offender. The pay was terrible, but it was all they had to go on. "I have a Ph. D. in world history, and this is how I support myself," he muttered as he dug through a pile of his jeans and shirts. "Selling movies...Sigfreda, are you ready?"

"Yeah." She ran into the bathroom, carrying her clothes. Right as Sigfried found his vest under his bed, he heard the piercing squeals that meant his daughter was bathing.

Sigfreda, at five years of age, looked very young. She hadn't grown all that much ever since she was a baby, in either height or weight. Scrawny and short, she showed all the symptoms of malnutrition. Being born premature hadn't given her a great start on her health, but their lack of real food, heat, and other such necessary resources didn't help at all.

Despite her emaciated appearance, Sigfreda was still a striking child. She looked quite a bit like her father, pale-skinned with black, curly hair, but her facial features were more like Ray's. She had deep brown eyes that tilted upwards very slightly, and her nose was dusted with a few light freckles, the vestiges of hours spent playing in the sun.

But Sigfried appreciated her temperament most of all. Sigfreda had gone through more than most children her age (he pegged the first traumatic event to be living with her grandmother). No matter how many times they had had to miss meals, how many cold showers or lightless nights she suffered through, or how bony she got, she was there every morning to wake him up, grinning at him and radiant with unadorned adoration.

Ten minutes later, Sigfried heard the shower jet turn off, accompanied by a shriek.

"Are you all right?" he asked his daughter, knocking on the bathroom door.

"It's just cold," Sigfreda told him, muffled by what he assumed was a towel. "When are we going?"

"In a little while. Hurry up."

After a while, Sigfreda exited the bathroom dressed in pants too long for her legs, a thin blue shirt, and what looked like one of his old blazers from college. It hung down to her knees.

"I wanted a coat," she told him wryly, noticing his bewildered stare. He opened his mouth in response, but decided not to say anything. Sigfried was still getting used to her odd fashion choices.

When they were finally ready, he closed the two locks on their door and led Sigfreda into the hallway. His salary could only manage the somewhat seedy apartment building they lived in. There weren't any real positives to this – the gray/orange paint decorating every square inch of the walls was peeling badly, and the residents split most of their time between screaming at each other and throwing beer bottles and other paraphernalia out of the windows onto the sidewalk below – but as far as he was concerned, it beat living with his mother.

Despite their neighbors' shortcomings, Sigfried and his daughter had made one connection with someone else in their building. The family that lived at the end of the hall consisted of one girl in her early teens, a tall, reedy mother, a boy one year older than Sigfreda, and a father that often disappeared for weeks at a time. Everyone on their floor preferred it when that man in particular was gone, especially his wife and children.

Rob Thorton was addicted to something, but no one was sure what it was, exactly. But whatever he was on (or in withdrawal from), it made him mean. Sigfried had met him a few times before he got hooked, and he had been a pleasant person. But now, his children walked around with bruises on their arms and sad looks in their eyes. Neither of them had any friends, as far as he could tell, except for Sigfreda.

It was their door that he led his daughter down to, before sighing quietly and giving it a hard rap.

After hearing a few shouts and one crash, Mrs. Thorton opened the door. Her graying hair was tied up into a messy bun, with what looked like a toothbrush stuck through it. Upon seeing who was there, she gave them a fake smile and murmured tiredly, "Hello."

Sigfreda, in her characteristically bold manner, stuck her head under the woman's arm and looked around her apartment. "Hi. Where's Liam?"

Sigfried grabbed the collar of her shirt and quickly pulled her back out. "Get out," he hissed through his teeth, and she obeyed, twisting out of his grip.

Mrs. Thorton didn't appear to notice. "He's coming, sweetie," she told her, reaching out one of her slender hands and patting her head. "I can't thank you enough for taking them today, Mr. Wagner," she said to him. He nodded kindly.

"It's nothing, and please...my name is Sigfried."

"All right. Well..." Mrs. Thorton lowered her eyes to the floor, shy as usual. "I'll go get Liam and Sophie." She walked back into the apartment, head hanging slightly.

Momentarily, she came back with her children. They had light blond hair and dark green eyes, but only Liam had curls. Sophie's was straight and fell limp against her head. The boy carried an action figure in his small fist, and the girl held a thick black book without a title on the cover. Both wore clothes too big for their bodies.

Without a look back, they hurried into the hallway. Sigfreda grinned happily, and grasped Liam's hand to lead him over to the elevator. Sophie followed them without a word.

"They need a day out," Mrs. Thorton said, studying the three kids over Sigfried's shoulder. "I don't know if you...heard, but their father came back night before last. It's been a bit rough."

Sigfried tried to look surprised, but knew he failed. Rob's screaming had been what kept him from getting any sleep. Mrs. Thorton saw his face and turned away, seeming embarrassed.

"Whozzat?" a slurred voice cried from the room behind the woman. She faced it.

"Mr. Wagner. He's taking the kids today."

"Who?" Rob sounded annoyed.

"The neighbor," his wife called back.

"Hello," Sigfried said.

"Go to hell." This statement was followed by a terrible retching sound.

"Oh, god!" Mrs. Thorton cried. "Thanks again, but I need to-" She slammed the door shut. Sigfried looked over at the elevator. Sigfreda and Liam were staring at him, but Sophie was determinately scrutinizing the buttons on the wall.

"Er," Sigfried announced, totally at a loss for words. He realized he was tugging a stray thread on his vest and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Let's go, I suppose."

In the elevator, it was completely silent until Sigfreda asked, "How long are we going to be there?" Liam, who had been patiently counting the floors as they passed them, turned towards him questioningly.

"Until noon, Sigfreda."

"Then what, Vati?"

Sigfried glanced down at her, grateful for the change of pace in the atmosphere. "Library, lieb. You asked me several times last night, remember?"

"Oh, right." To Sophie: "Is that the dictionary?" She pointed at the heavy book the girl was carrying.

Sophie still looked distressed, but Sigfried saw something spark alight in her face. "Nooo..." When Sigfreda didn't respond, she continued. "It's David Copperfield."

"Is it good?"

"It's all right. It's kind of hard." Sophie let a small grin creep across her face. This was practically a speech for someone that was as quiet as she was.

* * *

"HI!" Liam screamed through the slot in the wall as someone pushed a movie through it. Sigfreda giggled with unabridged delight. Their way of playing was odd, but they seemed to be enjoying it.

Sigfried stood behind the counter of the store, trying to fit videos into plastic cases. Sophie was sitting in a corner next to her brother and Sigfreda, immersed in her book. Their shouts didn't seem to bother her in the least. Maybe she was simply used to noise.

Liam was laughing joyously with his friend, an obviously welcome relief from his tumultuous home life. His leafy green eyes, usually darkened in pain, shone brightly at the somewhat shocked responses the two children got from the pedestrians outside of the store as they screamed.

"Excuse me," one customer asked in a needling voice, interrupting his observation. "Those children are being rather...loud, don't you think?" The man was dressed in a suit and tie similar to the one Sigfried would wear back when he worked in a more respectable environment, with graying hair and a clean-shaven face. Six years ago, they would have been equals. Now, there was a distinctly condescending tone in the other man's intonation.

Sigfried glanced over at Sophie, who hadn't said a word in the past hour, and shrugged noncommittally. "I think it is fine. No one else has complained."

The other man's nostril's flared slightly. "All right. I'm just here to return this." He held out his hand and dropped the film _Arsenic and Old Lace_ on the counter. "It's based on-"

"-the play," Sigfried said quietly, refusing to meet the man's eyes. He knew because he had nearly memorized it after reading it so many times. "You are one day overdue. That is a dollar, please."

The look on his face was priceless, but Sigfried's vindictive pleasure lasted only until the customer left the store. Then he returned to his mundane little plastic cases.

Back behind the counter, Sigfreda and Liam had noticed nothing out of the ordinary and were still shouting up through the metal slot. Sophie, however, was peeking up at him over the top edge of her book, her face slightly concerned.

"I think I've seen that guy at the library a couple times," she mumbled. "He's gotten kicked out for yelling at the librarians."

"Was he a millionaire?" Sigfreda inquired, as if it would make perfect sense if he were. Sigfried gave her a small smile.

"I don't know, lieb. I doubt it."

Liam piped up. "If he wasn't a millionaire, then he was a superhero." He grabbed his toy from the ground next to him, demonstrating. "That's why he was wearing a suit. It's his disguise."

"That's stupid," Sigfreda told him, sucking on a piece of her hair.

"Sigfreda!"

"Well, it is! Superheroes aren't real."

Liam looked highly affronted, but Sophie was shaking her head in agreement. "They're not real," she said softly. Her eyes were focused on the pages in front of her, but she wasn't really reading. Her mind was somewhere else completely.

"See! Sophie says so!" Sigfreda stood up, brushing lint of off her father's old shirt. "And you always agree with her." She changed the subject without missing a beat. "Wanna go look at the music movies with me, Liam?"

Liam joined her, but he still looked insulted. "Superheroes are so real," he muttered as he stomped off after her. Sigfreda, however, ignored him, and instead began singing under her breath.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to K.H. I don't know where you are now, but I bet they have tons of books there. Tea too. Thanks for the reads and the patience. I will be H's agent.


	4. Alone

A/N: Hey, y'all. Busy week up ahead (homecoming, babysitting, and a funeral...wahhhh...), so this is the only time I have to update right now. Enjoy it while you can, I guess.

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. I just wish I did.

Chapter Four

Sigfreda was shivering under her covers near the foot of her bed when she woke up from a particularly scary nightmare. It seemed like she was always having them, now. Full of screaming and hurt, they haunted her subconscious like angry little ghosts. She hated them.

Opening her eyes blearily, she unwrapped herself from the tangled trap of her sheets and felt her teeth start to chatter furiously as her skin met the cool air of her room. Sigfreda looked around at her surroundings, feeling as though something had been misplaced while she was sleeping.

Nothing looked any different. Her few stray dolls were scattered across her thin rug, and her broken crayons remained where she had left them the night before. A portrait of a tall building lay next to them, in what she believed had a great artistic resemblance to the real thing. Her piggy bank was on her dresser drawers, although she needn't have worried too much about it. All it contained was nineteen pennies picked up from the streets. There would have been twenty, but she had swallowed one on a dare from her classmate Danny. That act had won Sigfreda a dollar and a trip to the hospital.

Rubbing sleep away from her slender face, she jumped out of bed with an "oof" and traveled down to her father's room, like she always did. It was their little ritual, and ever since she had developed her nightmare problem, it was extremely comforting to be held every morning.

"Hi, Vati," she murmured as she opened the door and stumbled into his room. After searching for a minute, she suddenly realized that his bed was empty.

"Vati?" she inquired. A little louder: "Vati? Where are you?"

"Here, lieb," Sigfreda heard from the kitchen. She ran in.

Sigfried was fully dressed, and had washed and shaved already. He stood near the window, a heavy, steaming mug of tea in his hand. Sigfreda noticed that, although he was staring out of the window, he wasn't really focusing on it. Something was wrong here, too. She could sense it.

"Vati?" she asked, ambling over to him and threading her arm around his leg in a hug. "What's the matter?"

Sigfried glanced down at her, his eyes bloodshot behind his glasses. "Oh, lieb..I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to explain it to you."

"Try," Sigfreda ordered.

He sighed through his nose. "All right. Was Liam at school yesterday?"

Sigfreda remembered the day before. Usually she played only with her friend, apart from the occasional fight with another classmate. Yesterday, however, she hadn't had anyone to spend time with. Liam was absent.

"No, he wasn't."

Sigfried didn't look surprised, but he did look a little sad. "I thought so."

She hugged him more tightly. "Vati?"

"Let's wait a little while, okay?"

Sigfreda let go and walked over to the fridge. "Okay."

* * *

Her school was only a few blocks away, and Sigfried took her over there on his way to work. As they moved as quickly as they could through the freezing winter air, Sigfreda kicked at the dirty city slush around her feet.

"I get to play the drums in music today," she told her father. He barely looked at her.

"Good."

Sigfreda rolled her eyes. "Vati, you didn't hear me."

"Yes, I did." He grabbed her hand and pulled her along faster.

"Ow," she muttered as she tripped over her boots. Her toes were icy inside of them. "Why do you have to wear a lot of clothes when it's cold?"

"I don't know."

"Vati!" Sigfreda wailed. "Yes, you do!" The main gates of her school came into view suddenly. "Fine, I'll just ask Mrs. Weiner." At least her teacher was paid to answer her questions. She shivered and let go of his hand.

"Have a good day, lieb," Sigfried told her, bending down to kiss her cheek. Sigfreda wriggled away, annoyed.

"Too late," she said quietly, but he didn't appear to hear her. She stepped inside the fence and watched him disappear into the smoggy air of inner Boston.

On the playground of her school, children had gathered in several little groups, laughing and teasing each other on the plastic structures. Sigfreda held back a moment, before gathering up her courage and heading over to the one unoccupied swing. Everyone ignored her, except for one slightly overweight boy who called out, "It's Skeletor!"

Sigfreda was often made fun of for her looks. The children who went to her school didn't have great home lives, but she and Liam had bonded over their lack of possessions. The others weren't nearly as reedy as her, and she was the only one who borrowed her father's clothing on a regular basis. Her hair was usually tangled as well.

She ignored the boy as he received a small but appreciative amount of giggles from his friends and sat down on the swing. However, she didn't move at all – it was far too cold to do so – but instead opened her backpack and pulled out a book she had borrowed from the library: How to Read Music.

* * *

"Liam wasn't at school again, Vati." Sigfreda spooned a piece of lettuce into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "I didn't see Sophie today, either."

Sigfried was holding his fork halfway up to his face, but he paused and rested the utensil on his plate. "Yes, I know, lieb."

Sigfreda, who had been focusing on her salad, looked up at his response. "You do?"

He took his glasses off, set them on the table, and pressed his fingers over his closed eyes. For a while, he remained like that, before peeking out at his daughter. "Mm-hm," he murmured. Sigfreda felt a terrible sense of foreboding unexpectedly, and she pushed her plate away, a little ill.

"What's wrong with Liam?" she demanded. "Is his dad sicker?" Sigfreda often heard the man screaming in what sounded like pain, and she assumed that he had a very bad disease. She had no idea what it was, but it sounded terrible.

"No," Sigfried muttered. He gave no further response, so Sigfreda tried again.

"Then what is it?" she asked, a little more loudly.

He inhaled, then placed his hands on the table, staring down at his dinner plate. "Lieb...I am not sure how to explain this to you very well. Forgive me for that."

"All right," she said impatiently.

"Liam's father has had a - problem is the wrong word to describe it, but I will use it for now – a problem for a few years, and...Liam and Sophie and their mother have not been able to deal with it the right way, until last weekend."

It was Tuesday. Sigfreda counted backwards on her fingers.

"Three days ago," she told her father. He nodded.

"Ja. But with this 'problem' they cannot stay with their father."

"But he's still here," Sigfreda argued. "I heard him yesterday..." Her voice trailed off as she realized what Sigfried was saying. "Vati? Where's Liam?"

"I am not sure, Sigfreda. Mrs. Thorton took him and Sophie away last Sunday. Actually, a woman came to help them leave. I do not know if you heard that; it was very late at night."

Sigfreda's mind flashed back to the nightmare she had most recently had, and suddenly her breath felt short in coming. "Can I see Liam?"

"Therein lies the issue," Sigfried informed her gently. "I am afraid that, if we want to keep everyone in his family safe, then no." He gave her a small, sad, comforting smile, but she could tell it was for show.

"But - he's my friend," Sigfreda sputtered, feeling teary pricks forming in her eyes. "Vati-"

"I know, lieb," Sigfried whispered, and stood up briefly to hook his hands underneath her arms and pull her onto his lap. There, she sniffled for a few minutes, before she began to cry against his worn shirt.

Sigfreda was experiencing a strange combination of feelings right then. Compassion, naturally, for her friends family having been devastated, but she could remember the bite of the boy's taunt on the playground that day. At least she used to have someone defend her when that happened, and vice versa when Liam was on the receiving end.

"Now what's going to happen?" she said so softly that she knew Sigfried hadn't heard her.


	5. Name

A/N: Hey y'all. I know, I'm back from the dead. Sorry, I've been writing a couple new stories (check them out if you want. I'm actually pretty proud of them). They're called 'The Visiting Writers' and 'A Small Problem.' So here's a new chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men, as usual. I want to, though.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Sigfreda grinned at her father. "Vati..." she groaned happily.

"Nonsense. Put it on." Sigfried nudged her clasped hands, the dress in his hands. She rolled her eyes.

"I've never worn anything like this before," Sigfreda muttered as she pushed him out of her bedroom, holding the piece of clothing in her hand. "All right."

It was the dawn of her ninth birthday, which she thought was a very important date. Only one more year until she was in the double digits, as her father had taken to saying recently.

She had woken to a darkly lit bedroom, being shaken awake by Sigfried. In his hand was a large cardboard box, the kind that came from clothing stores. In an instant she had figured out what was in it.

"Oh, wow!" Sigfreda screeched, shooting up in an instant. It was, in her mental frame, The Dress. She had seen it on one of her trips to her father's place of work, in the window of an old fashion store that was close to the brink of bankruptcy. Usually she didn't care at all about that sort of thing, but it was so pretty, she had instantly fallen in love. However, she knew it was a fruitless dream. They'd never be able to afford it.

That had been a month ago. She hadn't forgotten about it, always keeping an open eye out for it as she walked by the store. But three days before, it had totally disappeared. Sigfreda was crushed, but she tried not to show it.

But it was apparent where the dress had gone when she woke up on July twenty-sixth. She wondered how Sigfried had even known she wanted it, but they were closer than most parents and children were. Maybe he was just tuned into her.

As Sigfreda pulled on the dress, she smiled. It was just such a wonderful change from her usual baggy pants and heavy shirts. It came down to just above her knees, with short sleeves and a light, gauzy pinky-red material. It was, she decided as she checked out her reflection in the mirror, the best thing she'd probably ever worn.

There was a little brush on her toy table, and she grabbed it, running it through her hair as best as possible (it was quite tangled). Her black, curly mane ran down to the small of her back. She hated cutting it.

Finally, Sigfreda stepped out of her room, feeling a bit self-conscious. "How is it?" she asked Sigfried, who was standing there expectantly.

He walked over to her and picked her up, swinging her over his shoulder. "Very nice," he told her, laughing a little. She pounded his back.

"Hey! Put me down! Put me down!" she squeaked, giggling. He obeyed, and set her on the floor. She felt a bit embarrassed that he could still do that, but a bit glad too.

Outside, it was a hot, partially cloudy day. Sigfried didn't hold Sigfreda's hand as they were walking, but he was still close next to her.

"What do you want to do first?" he asked her, guiding her around a puddle fathered by the rain the night before. Sigfreda thought for a moment.

"Let's get something to eat."

"Where?"

She didn't even pause to consider it. "McDonalds."

He smiled apologetically. "Thanks," he murmured inaudibly. A slow pink blush crept up his pale, wood-colored cheek. Sigfreda stared up at it, then her eyes traveled up to his hair, so much like her own. It was thinning slightly.

The restaurant was a few blocks away. While traveling, they came across a street performer, a tall young woman. She was less slender than other homeless people that occupied the city, so she probably had been much bigger before she was put out of her house.

Sigfreda stopped briefly to study her. She was singing something, but it sounded like it was in a different language. Sigfreda could only speak English and German. However, she still appreciated the beautiful voice the woman had, until Sigfried grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her along, not really making eye contact with the singer.

* * *

"Vati?" Sigfreda asked, after carefully swallowing a part of her hamburger. "Why did you name me Sigfreda?" 

At the restaurant counter, an elderly woman had called her 'cute' and asked her what name was. It was at this point that she made a discovery. 'Sigfreda' didn't fit her at all. The syllables were too thick in her mouth, and took too long to make it out into the open. This thought had been niggling at the back of her mind more recently, but it hadn't really come into play until just then.

Sigfried frowned at the memory. "Your grandmother named you after me."

"Oh. Did she give me my middle name too?" Sigfreda liked that one: Gwen. It was much more simpler, but pretty too. Like her new dress.

Her father suddenly began twisting in his chair. "No, lieb. Your mother-" his voice had lowered slightly – "named you."

This was an interesting turn of events. They never talked about her mother, never.

"Really?" Sigfreda lit up at the idea. She had been given something by her mutti, after all. And this was great: she had given her a name!

"Yes, lieb." He stared down at his meal, and she speculated on why he was so uncomfortable.

Then she asked the most daring question of all. "What was her name?"

Sigfreda briefly saw the flash of surprise in her father's eyes when she spoke, before he purposely squirted ketchup onto his shirt. "Oh, no!" he cried, standing up and walking back to the counter for some ice. "This is my last good shirt..."

It didn't fool her at all. As he rubbed the spot with cold water, she realized that the stupid little distraction he had pulled was a sign: Don't ask about your mother. You won't get anywhere.

Sigfreda could sense it, blipping away on the radar screen that was her mind.

* * *

A/N: Very short chapter, I know. Virtual cookies to anyone who has read my other stories and can figure out all the subtle little clues in here that lead to her becoming Gwen. (That sounds like a movie promo, I know). Oh, by the way, mutti means 'mommy,' if you couldn't figure that out.

And dangit, review too! It keeps me sane...Plus, it's a bit annoying when people read it and don't review at all. Just drop me a line and let me know how I'm doing. That's all.

Bye for now!


	6. Restart

A/N: Hey, there! Thanks a ton to StarShipDelta and Amarandh for reviewing (shame on the rest of you, I know you're reading it!) and the other people who wrote about my other stories.

Now we're just about to get Kurt-centric here, so hold on a couple more chapters.

Disclaimer: Don't own the X-Men. Just Sigfreda and her dad.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Sigfreda and her father were having dinner when the phone call came.

At the moment, she was spooning some lukewarm canned soup into her mouth. The ringing interrupted their quiet chatter, and she started, dropping the utensil and liquid onto her lap.

"Oops," she muttered sheepishly as Sigfried stood up to talk to the caller. It was next to their little fridge. As he took the phone off the hook, he nodded in Sigfreda's direction.

"Wipe that off," he mouthed at her, before saying in his most pleasant voice, "Hello?"

Sigfreda glared down at her slack pants that were in constant danger of sliding off her hips, blotting the spot with a paper napkin, when her father's words caught her attention.

"Harriet? I haven't heard from you in years." It wasn't the words, exactly, but the tone of voice. He was also speaking in his native tongue. "Yes, I suppose so...How are you?"

Sigfreda shook her curls out of her face and pursed her mouth in concentration, trying not to look like she was eavesdropping.

"And how's Alice and Edward? Last time I saw them was...Oh. Oh, my. Huh." Sigfried turned his back to his daughter. "Well, what did the doctors say?"

Sigfreda's head snapped up at this part, not really caring about being surreptitious anymore.

"Wow, that's...that's terrible, Harry. I'm sorry; I really am. But there's a good chance...?"

'Harry?' Sigfreda thought. Guess they were close, or at least had been.

"Oh...really. Well, I hate to bring this up, but ever since-" he glanced at his daughter over his shoulder quickly and faced back again. "-that...problem we had- no, not that one...no...I'm not saying it, she's right here!"

Sigfreda suddenly realized he was talking about her. "Vati-"

"Hush, lieb. But Harry, ever since it happened, I haven't been able to get a good job. I can't possibly pay for it."

They must be _really_ close. Sigfried hated talking about their financial issues.

"Oh, no, Harry, that's just too much to ask...Well, if it is for Alice...I suppose so. When do you want us? Harry, I'm not leaving her here. She's part of the family too, and it's not like she's going to tell all the newspapers about this...Fine, perhaps there are some things she doesn't need to know about. Yes...All right. Do you need anything? Well, if you do, just call me. Mm-hmm. Right. You can tell me about the details later, just go take care of Alice. Yes. It was nice to hear from you, even if it's about something that bad. Yes. I'll talk to you later. Goodbye." He hung the phone on the receiver, shook his head, and sat back down at the table.

"Vati, what was that?" Sigfreda asked. He took off his glasses, which was a sure sign of trouble.

"Oh, lieb, it's my cousin. I'm afraid she's gotten cancer."

She didn't know much about the disease, but she realized how dreadful it was. "That's bad."

"It is. But the doctors have good news. She's had chemotherapy, and there's a good possibility that she could survive."

"Whoa." Sigfreda set down her spoon. "I guess that part's good, Vati."

He smiled gratefully at her. "I haven't spoken to her in years. That was her sister – also my cousin – on the phone. Her name's Harriet, and her brother is Edward."

"How come I've never heard of them?"

Sigfried sighed. "We had a falling out a while back, around the time you were born. It's been eleven years since then – nearly twelve." They grinned at each other at the mention of her upcoming birthday. "But I suppose they want to make peace in light of this event, if Harriet's calling me up. She just asked me if we wanted to come to Germany to visit them."

Sigfreda felt her eyebrows pop up in surprise. "Wow! Are we going?"

He nodded. "Family's important, lieb. Never forget that." He picked up his spoon, turning back to his now-cold soup. "I think she wants us there as soon as possible. Probably in a week or so. Unless you have something else planned...?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, nothing. And you know it, so stop doing that."

"All right, lieb." He began eating again. Ever since Liam had left, Sigfreda had had a lot of trouble making friends. Her summer was going to be split between helping her dad at the movie store and walking around the city with him.

At least this would be a welcome change. She was tired of depilated buildings, the smoggy air, and the unchanging beat of Boston. A trip to her father's homeland would be wonderful. "Where do they live?"

"Actually, when my father died, he left them his house. So we'll be staying in my childhood home, most likely. It's a nice place, but I wanted to keep going to school in America."

"Sounds good." Sigfreda chewed thoughtfully on a rubbery piece of chicken. "Vati?"

"Mm?"

"Did the argument you had with your cousins- did it have anything to do with my mother?"

Sigfried stood up quickly, grabbing his bowl of soup. "What makes you say that?"

"I don't know...just guessing. Sorry." She picked up her bowl as well. "Don't worry, I'll do the dishes."

* * *

**A Week Later, in Germany**

"Oh, my god," Sigfreda said in a near whisper, accidentally dropping her suitcase on the clean, perfectly green grass beneath her. "Vati, how come you never told me your family is loaded?"

Sigfried frowned down at her. "Sigfreda, do not say that."

"Sorry. But, I mean...wow." She retrieved her bag from the ground.

She was standing with her father at the gate of his old house. The only word to describe it was: grand. It occupied several acres easily, not including the beautiful lawn and bushes around it. Decorated in such an elegant, splendid manner, Sigfreda wouldn't have been surprised to find out that royalty lived there.

Her father was studying it too, though more with reminiscence than awe. "How long has it been?" he asked, but the question was to himself. He began walking up the grassy path leading to the majestic front door. Sigfreda followed him, still taking it all in.

There was a small knocker attached to the entry, and her father slammed it once, then twice. "Here goes," he murmured, sounding a little nervous.

As far as she was concerned, he had absolutely nothing to worry about. Mere moments later, a tall woman around Sigfried's age opened it. Her mouth fell open in happiness.

"Oh, Sigfried!" she cried, throwing her long, slender arms around his neck. He hugged her back.

"Harry! This is so fantastic, seeing you - oh Harry, don't cry...please don't cry."

"I'm not," she replied, straightening and wiping frantically at her eyes. Sigfreda suddenly felt shy and ducked behind her father. "And...who's this?"

She had noticed the girl. "Sigfreda," she told the woman, staring at her feet. Her father pushed her forward, and his cousin tilted her chin upwards to face her.

"Don't be bashful, darling. Let me look at you." She examined her, grinning all the while. "Sigfried, she's beautiful...but look at how thin you are. Come in, you can unpack and have something to eat; does that sound good?"

Sigfried agreed and nudged his daughter into the house with a little more force than before. She was still feeling timid, and believed that Harriet had been lying. She was way too scrawny to be pretty.

The room they stepped into was also impressive, with a long staircase leading up to a balcony that overlooked it all. Harriet was walking up it, and she motioned for them to follow suit.

"You two can choose any room you want," she told them as they reached the second floor, "as long as they don't have anything in them. Sigfreda, would you like to try and see if you can find your father's old bedroom? Go on, see if you can do it."

Sigfreda restrained herself from rolling her eyes. This was clearly a ploy to get her out of the way so the adults could talk. She stopped at the first door on the floor.

Harriet looked surprised. "You found it." Sigfried smiled down at her.

"You can stay there. I remember there was a tree right next to the window; I used to climb on it and watch the stars at night."

Sigfreda beamed at him, and upon his encouragement, reluctantly walked through the door, leaving her father and his cousin in the hallway. The room was decorated with dark blue wallpaper. She noticed with a wave of affection towards Sigfried that it was her favorite color. There was a small bed tucked into the corner, missing its sheets and blankets. A small table stood next to it, with a reading lamp standing on it. A dresser was located on the opposite wall. Between the three pieces of furniture, there was nothing besides a light green floor-length carpet.

She dropped her case on the ground, not really caring as it burst open from the force, and marched over to the window. Outside, there was a regal oak, proud and tall, extending its thick branches out to Sigfreda. Struck by a sudden impulse, she unlatched the frame and opened the pane, before reaching out her hands to stroke the strong leaves that were present. It was hard to imagine her father as a child, much less picture herself actually standing there. The house was too stately for anyone besides her graceful cousin and poised father to live in it.

She listened to the mumbling voices outside the room, and her suspicions were confirmed. A child would be far too...lively wasn't the word. Disruptive, perhaps.

* * *

"Come, Sigfreda," Sigfried commanded, outstretching his hand to lead her into the dining room. "We'll meet Alice and Edward. And shake their hands," he added as an afterthought.

She sighed quietly. "Yes, Vati." Being polite was really getting quite cumbersome. She was used to the banter she and her father shared.

In the room, there was a long, rectangular table covered in a crisp, white cloth. It was so blindingly clean that Sigfreda winced when she saw it, before noticing the strange new woman seated behind it.

She was a few years younger than Harriet, but she looked much older, with laugh lines around her kind eyes and knowing bruises under them. Except for the fact that her head had nothing on it but a few wisps of hair, she looked almost exactly the same as Sigfried's cousin. This was clearly Alice.

Her father stiffened with shock, before composing himself and going over to the frail woman and kissing her cheek. "Hello, Alice," he murmured, taking her hand from her lap and patting it. "How are you?"

She smiled sadly. "I'm as good as I can be, Sigfried. I feel much better than I did last month, I can tell you that." Her gaze drifted over to Sigfreda. "And...oh, my. Come here, girl." She motioned her over, and Sigfreda followed this instruction. The dress Harriet had made her wear was too large, and she nearly tripped over the hem. Alice giggled, a light, tinkling sound.

"Hello," Sigfreda said to her, sticking out her fist formally. The delicate woman laughed again.

"No need for that." She pulled her close and wound her thin arms around the girl. "You look exactly like your father, except for your eyes. Those are clearly your mother's-"

Sigfried coughed noisily.

"Oh, right. But it's like a flashback from my childhood, you're so alike- although you're a girl, of course, I'm not insinuating anything-"

"Alice," a strong, imposing voice said from the depths of the shadows in the alcove near the cabinet. "I think that's enough. You're still recovering."

Sigfreda turned her head from the benign face before her in order to attach a body to the tone. A tall man with features not unlike those of his sisters was standing near the glassware case, holding a heavy mug. She wondered how she hadn't seen him before.

"I'm Edward," he told her, with a watered-down version of a smile. "And you're undoubtedly Sigfried's daughter. I'd recognize that hair anywhere." Edward walked over to them. "Alice, don't wear yourself out."

"I'm not doing anything to her," Sigfreda began, but Sigfried's glare silenced her.

"I'll make you some tea," he told the woman, ignoring the girl's comment.

"I can handle a potato," Alice muttered darkly, making Sigfreda chuckle, but she allowed herself to be led into the adjoining kitchen on unsteady legs.

"We're going to have dinner in a moment," Harriet told Sigfried, "but I'm just going to set the table first. You can just sit for a bit. We'll...talk later."

Sigfreda realized that this was another mention of a secret she was not privy to. It was beginning to get irritating. Maybe she could figure out some way to listen in on their conversation later. Being on the outside of the family enigma wasn't nearly as bad as the exclusion she felt at school – not even close, because she knew her father cared about her – but more frustrating. Sigfreda was getting tired of being patient for everything to be revealed. It was as if the longer she waited, the more it seemed that she wasn't likely to hear the answer. But her father had mentioned two different things while talking to Alice the week before.

When she entered that house, how deep had she been wound into the mysteries? And more importantly, how could she extract herself?

A/N: Soooo...did you like it? Hate it? Leave a review!

Mucho foreshadowing here, as well as a couple hints to my other fanfic, A Song for Someone Special.


	7. Metamorphosis

A/N: Hey, sorry this update took so long. I've had a lot of stuff going on at the time (I hate boys, it's official).

Kurt's in this chapter, so yay!

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. I'd like to, though.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

"Vati, we're gonna be late..." Sigfreda moaned, jumping about a little bit.

Sigfried straightened his jacket. "All right, Sigfreda. Tie your shoelace."

She obeyed this command, before opening the front door of the house and gesturing at it. "Come on! Let's go!"

They had been staying with their cousins for the past three weeks. It had been mostly boring, with the only exciting event being the discovery of a locked trunk in an empty room. The place was deathly quiet; the only sounds came from behind closed doors late at night. Sigfreda didn't know what they were talking about, and merely assumed it was about Alice's condition. The woman was improving very slowly, but her hair had been growing quite a bit. The girl looked forward to dinner every day, when Alice would be taken out of her resting room and sat at the table. They enjoyed talking to each other, even being a little rowdy at times, causing Edward and Harriet to frown and her father to smile softly into his beard.

However, any other hour was exhaustingly dull. The adults spent most of their time on explorations around their small town, reminiscing about the childhood they had spent there. Perhaps Sigfried had sensed this (or maybe her constant complaining about her boredom clued him in), because he had decided to take her on an outing that day.

"...And there's a little bookstore about a half hour's walk away. Oh, wait, I forgot! I think I saw a circus poster. Would you like that?"

Sigfreda agreed wholeheartedly. _Finally, something exciting,_ she had mused rather sardonically.

As she ushered her father outside, she tripped slightly over her pant legs. There had been, of course, the option of one of Harriet's dresses, but they felt too stuffy for a day out. Besides, she'd probably ruin them on the grass or dirt.

She strode quickly besides her father on a gravelly road, and her skin bristled in anticipation. Maybe it was just the liberation, but it felt like...something was going to happen that day.

"I wanna see the trapeze artists," she announced, shivering in unknown anticipation. Sigfried smiled down at her.

"That's what they have in a circus, lieb," he told her. She grinned back up at him. Since coming to Germany, his hair had been falling out at a less dramatic rate (he was still rather impressively bald), and he had gained maybe a few pounds, giving him a healthier air. Sigfreda knew she hadn't changed much. Her wild mane of curls was as hopelessly tangled as usual.

After a surprisingly short walk, the pair reached a large circular chain-link fence. The sight inside of the enclosure was impressive – several copiously sized, brightly colored tents stood erect within it. Surrounding them outside was a crowd of people, of ages ranging from those of infancy to senility. They seemed to be with their families, laughing, fighting, and enjoying each other's company as they permeated into the tents.

Sigfreda felt her excited grin widen, and she reached for her father's hand, a childish act she had not committed for a long time. "Come on!" she chirped, dragging him through the gate in front of them in the direction of the big top. "We'll be late!"

As hard as she pulled, he still remained at his slow pace. She had never seen him run in her entire life, and she assumed it was because of his handicapped foot. She didn't know what accident had occurred to remove his toe, and she figured it would be pointless asking about it.

However, when they had paid for their tickets at last and were able to make it into the tent, it appeared as though they were still a bit early. There were still several good seats available. Sigfried adjusted his wire-frame glasses as he scanned the growing audience in the bleachers.

"Ah!" he murmured, and led Sigfreda over to a lower level near what appeared to be a small exit. There were only two seats left on it, and because most people there wanted to be seated with their own larger groups, they had not been taken. It was their loss, she thought. They had a prime view of the arena.

As soon as they had settled, Sigfried brought his threadbare wallet out of his pants and began rifling through it.

"I have a few dollars here," he told her. "Would you care for some popcorn?"

Sigfreda nodded vehemently. In her morning excitement, she had forgotten to eat breakfast. By then it was noontime.

Sigfried stood up again. "Watch my seat, lieb. I'll be back in a few minutes. Do not go anywhere."

"Okay." Sigfreda swiveled and placed her legs over his spot.

However, he still hadn't returned when the performers began to enter through the small slit in the cloth that she was sitting near. The act hadn't yet begun, but the performance was drawing closer to its commencement. She worried briefly that he wouldn't be able to get back inside without disturbing the show, but put it out of her mind and started watching the men and women walking near her and standing just off to her left.

It was an interesting collective of people, that much could be said. Their makeup, their vibrant clothing...it was so elaborate. Every detail had been covered, Sigfreda noted as she scanned the man closest to her. His skin had been painted a deep blue, but the color moved so flawlessly with his skin it was almost as if it was completely natural. Upon closer inspection, she realized he was covered in strange tattoos as well, although she couldn't tell if they were real or not (if not, it must have taken hours to construct the illusion). He even had a forked tail.

Perhaps the man felt Sigfreda's eyes on him, for he turned around to face her. He was wearing yellow contacts, which only added to his mysterious air. His face was kind though, so she gave him her most winning smile. As expected, he grinned back, and she saw that he was wearing fanged dentures too. Despite his scarily demonic costume, Sigfreda decided she liked him. She gave him a small wave, and he winked back at her. Giggling, she turned from him as she recognized the opening notes of a musical piece emanating from the arena. When she faced him again, he had disappeared, leaving his fellow performers behind.

"Sigfreda," she heard from behind her, and she whirled around again. Her father was standing over her, holding a large bucket of popcorn. "I am back."

"Hey," she greeted him. "You're just in time. It's about to start."

He sat down next to her, offering the container. She took an enormous handful of the snack as the music swelled dramatically. The lights dimmed in response, and as Sigfreda munched away happily, the performers appeared before the audience.

All in all, she decided as she listened to the grand announcements and watched the trapeze artists swinging above their heads, this was the most fun she had had in a while. Even though this wasn't saying much, she was enjoying herself immensely. She gasped a couple of times, even, when one of the performers came close to falling – or so it appeared. They moved fluidly; it was clear they knew what they were doing. All Sigfreda could do was a haphazard cartwheel.

Halfway into the first act, her demon friend made an arrival. A spotlight had been trained down on his frame, but it could barely keep up as he flipped into the center of the stadium. She was astonished, never having known that the human body was even capable of such acts.

Sigfreda nudged her father's arm without taking her eyes off the man. "Vati, look. It's so cool. Look at that g-"

She stopped talking when she saw that Sigfried was watching him as intently as she was – perhaps even more so. However, there was something not quite right in his expression. A hardness had crept into his usually exhausted features, and she couldn't name what it was.

"Vati, are you all right?" she asked, suddenly concerned. He studied the man for a second more, before standing up quickly. The bucket that had been on his left spilled the remaining kernels onto the floor, clattering quietly. Before she could inquire as to his actions, he grabbed her arm with surprising strength and pulled her up as well.

"Vati-"

"We have to leave."

"What?"

"_Now!_" he barked at her, and frightened by this sudden display of temper, she was too shocked to fight back as he led her out of the tent. He was moving more quickly that she had ever seen him do.

Sigfried didn't speak or let go of her till they were well out of the circus area, back on the road. Finally, the pressure on her arm was too great, and she attempted to pry his fingers off.

"Vati, you're hurting me!" she whimpered. Abruptly, he stopped at the sound of her cry and released his grip, looking a bit guilty now.

As she inspected the bruise already forming on her limb, her fear gave way to anger. "Why did we have to leave?" she demanded.

Sigfried took off his glasses and began polishing them on his shirt. "That man was a mutant," he told her bluntly.

This caught her off guard. She had heard of mutants, of course, but only on the news. They seemed like a faraway disturbance, not corporeal at all. "Huh?"

"Don't say 'huh.' He was a mutant."

"How do you know?" Her tone was still rude, but it felt justified.

"It's – that...I just do."

"How?"

He glowered at her, still terrifying. "No one can move like that. No one can look that flawless. That was no costume, Sigfreda."

"Sure it was! You're just being..._stupid!_" Sigfreda knew she'd regret these words later, but at the moment she didn't care. "And we didn't have to leave, only cuz you think someone is a mutant or whatever they're called. I'm going back."

She turned around on her heel and began marching back towards the circus. Before she even got a foot, however, Sigfried had caught her arm once again.

"No, you are not," he said dangerously.

"I'll do what I want," she yelled at him, feeling her cheeks heat up in rage. This was the first fight they'd ever had.

He whirled her back around to bring them face-to-face. "No, you will not." His voice was chilling. Sigfreda had never seen this angry, cruel side of her father before, and a mixture of fear and fury forced her to close her eyes in concentration. _Don't lose it,_ she told herself.

At the height of her feelings, it felt like she was being slammed by a cold wave. For an instant, her mind went totally blank, and then it was filled with...

_Sigfried as a young boy, listening to his parents argue for the umpteenth time in his life..._

_Sigfried older, trying to ride a bike without anyone nearby to support him..._

_Sigfried as a teenager, inspecting his appearance in the mirror before him..._

_Sigfried at eighteen, on a plane to America to go to college..._

_Sigfried back in Germany, watching his father marry a woman less than half his age..._

_Sigfried bursting into a room in his house, his eyes coming upon Eric Wagner - dead - on the floor, and his wife watching a nurse hold a newborn baby in her arms – a blue-skinned baby, with alert yellow eyes and a tail waving itself into a question mark..._

_Sigfried teaching in a school, studying the young, pretty girl in his class with a bit too much intensity..._

_Sigfried holding his daughter in a prison visiting room, wincing as he applied pressure to his foot..._

_Sigfried experiencing another sleepless night, as he listened to Rob Thorton's screams and threats..._

_Sigfried organizing movie after movie..._

_Sigfried listening to Harriet's sobs on the other end of the phone and realizing that he would be going back to Germany once again..._

_Sigfried staring down at his daughter, her face filled with anger as he dragged her away from the circus..._

Sigfreda's mind finally stopped racing, and she shook her head in an effort to clear it. For a moment, she had been...reliving was probably a good word for it...her father's _memories?_

She felt dizzy all of a sudden, the information she had just received spinning her around on the very spot...the baby, the baby...

Sigfreda looked back up at her father, still in shock, before wrenching herself out of his grip with as much force as she could muster and running down the road in the direction of the house. She made it about five yards ahead of him before she fell over on the side grass, tumbling onto her back and panting.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she whispered, not sure what to make of the recent events. Somehow, her father's memories had gotten into her head. She could see things he had. She could feel everything he had felt.

He caught up to her, limping – that had happened in prison? – before Sigfreda rolled over to rest her burning face on the cool grass.

"Oh god," she muttered again, as her father, already regretting his actions, lifted her up and tried to settle her vertigo. "Oh god...oh _no_."

* * *

A/N: Well, Gwen's just met Kurt (sort of) and discovered that she's a mutant. Exciting.

Did you like it? Then review, my darlings.


	8. Meeting

A/N: Hey, everybody! Kurt gets lines this chapter, so woohoo! Aah, this is my only joy...I got the stomach bug the day before my school let out for break, so I had to miss all the goodbyes and candy. Now I don't get to see my friends for two weeks. Grr. Okay, I'll stop now.

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. I want to, though.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

As Sigfreda lay in bed, pondering the events of the day before, she stared at the pink inhaler in her hand.

After she had fallen down while fighting with her father, it had become increasingly hard for her to breathe properly. Eventually, Sigfried had to carry her back to the house and phone for a doctor. He had peered down her constricted throat and immediately diagnosed asthma.

Her father had felt so guilty for bringing about this attack that he had apologized for several hours on end. Then he had refused to let her out of her room, so that she could rest. Two puffs from the inhaler had made her perfectly fine, however, and bed confinement was getting extremely old. The adults had been checking in at mealtimes, bringing her something to eat or read or play with, and although being pampered was a new, fun experience, Sigfreda got tired of it.

"Let me out of here!" she'd finally screamed at Edward, who looked as though he hadn't wanted to be there in the first place. He made a sour expression and left without a word.

That had been at lunchtime. Now it was getting close to evening, and she felt uncomfortably warm and hungry. She couldn't decide if she wanted dinner or fresh air more.

Sighing, Sigfreda set the inhaler back down on the little table beside her bed and sat up. A book under the covers poked her in the foot, and she kicked it away. For the thousandth time that day, she began to remember what she had seen at the circus and on the way back from it.

The man, now that her father had pointed it out, definitely could have been a mutant. It was a great disguise, too, like he was wearing a costume. But upon reading Sigfried's memories, she could make the connection between the performer and the baby her brother had seen his stepmother give birth to. The features were simply too much alike to not be the same person.

And as she reflected back on it, she could see the similarities between the man and her father. Their hair was both black and curly, like hers, but that wasn't it...they had the same benevolent air, she decided, as she recalled his wink.

So, if her assumptions were correct, they were brothers – no, half-brothers. So that made him her half-uncle.

For a moment, she also thought about the girl Sigfried had been watching – with dark, slanted eyes and light freckles. She hadn't been very old, but maybe, just maybe...

Sigfreda buried her face in her hands and tried to put the idea out of her mind. One thing at a time.

She had read her father's memories. That was a problem, most decidedly. What if that ability was a mutation? Sigfried hadn't noticed her doing it. If he had, he would have said something. But what if she did it again, either to him or to someone else, and they realized what was happening? What if she couldn't control it?

She needed help.

* * *

"Goodnight, Vati," Sigfreda whispered.

"Goodnight, lieb," Sigfried replied, kissing her forehead. "You can get out of bed tomorrow, I promise. Just be careful not to hurt yourself."

"I won't."

"All right then." He patted her cheek and stood up. "I love you," he said, as he shut the door. When the room was completely dark, Sigfreda waited for the sound of his footsteps to disappear before flipping the blankets off and getting out of her bed.

She had taken the liberty of dressing herself completely for her little trip a few minutes before, at ten. It would save time, and no one would hear her moving around. Quietly, she tiptoed over to her window. This was open, another thing she had thought of after getting ready. Outside, the nearby tree's leaves whistled in the gentle dusk wind.

Sigfreda hadn't tried this before, but her father had said himself that it was possible. She just needed to pretend she wasn't very high off of the ground. At least she wasn't scared of heights – of course, she chuckled to herself nervously, if there was a snake in the branches, that would likely change.

She took a deep breath, before sticking her skinny leg outside onto the limb nearest her. As she lifted herself onto it, she stared up at the sky, trying not to look down below her. Eventually she had made it all the way out, much to her relief. The first phase of her journey was complete.

Swinging her body to the branch beneath her, she wrapped her arms around the trunks, supporting herself. This time it was easier. Feeling proud of herself, she repeated this sequence three more times before jumping the last four feet to the ground.

"Oof," Sigfreda muttered as she fell backwards. It didn't hurt, but the hardness was a bit of a surprise. She recovered quickly, though, and taking one brief glance up at her open window, she began running towards the road. Moving quickly, it would take five minutes to get back into town. Now all she had to do was pray that no one realized she was missing.

Patting the bulge of her pocket to make sure the inhaler was still there, Sigfreda paused for a moment to catch her breath. When her pulse had returned to normal, she began jogging again, her feet kicking up gravel. She had always been good at running, and sincerely hoped that her asthma wouldn't interfere with it.

This wasn't an issue at the time, though, as she reached the fence surrounding the circus. The opening gate was shut and padlocked, but Sigfreda wasn't worried. After that tree, this was nothing.

She climbed up the length of the enclosure, barely stopping before she jumped over the wire top into the grassy area. Easy. Now all she had to do was figure out where the man was, a task that certainly proved more daunting.

Sigfreda had to start somewhere, however, so she began by running behind big top. There were several side attractions in that place, all shut down for the night. Normally, she would have stopped to peruse, but this wasn't the time. Instead, she headed further, past the tents and booths, before finding herself near the edge of a region filled with small trees. Along the outskirts of it were about thirty different trucks and trailers. Lights shone from a couple of them, but most were dark. This must be where the performers lived when they weren't onstage.

"Great," she muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. Now what? She couldn't exactly go knocking on everyone's doors, asking if a man who might be a mutant or just a guy in a really good costume that happened to look like her father's brother was there. But there wasn't much else she could do.

Sighing, she strode over to a trailer with the lights on and gingerly tapped on the door. A second later, it was opened by a middle-aged woman.

"Hello," she said in German. "Are you all right, little girl?"

Sigfreda nodded, and replied back in her language. "Yes, I'm fine. But I wanted to talk to someone here. He's kind of...well...I thought it was a costume at first, but I think his skin might be blue, and he's got yellow eyes..." she faltered as another, more severe-looking woman joined them appeared from behind the door.

"That's my son," she said, her voice a little dangerous. "If you're here to even try and touch him, I promise you-"

"Oh, no!" Sigfreda exclaimed. "I just thought...well, I thought he might be my uncle, but if you're his mother, then that's not possible, I guess."

The woman looked at her with a direct gaze that was slightly disconcerting. Sigfreda did her best to return her stare. "Adoptive mother."

"Oh, all right then...so, could I talk to him?"

The woman nodded. "If you might be related, then of course. I don't think I really have a choice." She turned to the other woman. "Mary, I think I need to leave for the night. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

Mary smiled at her. "Okay. Goodnight, Margali."

Margali stepped outside of the trailer and stood next to Sigfreda. "Goodnight." Mary shut the door with a creak and a click, leaving the two females out in the warm dark. There was a small awkward silence, before the older one spoke.

"May I ask what your name is?"

Sigfreda hesitated before responding. She really did hate her name, and as she studied the woman's strong features in the poor light available, it felt like she needed a change. "My name's Sigfreda Wagner, but...I like my middle name better. It's Gwen."

"Gwen. Hmm. All right." She began walking across the grass, beckoning for the girl. "Follow me, Gwen."

"Okay." She complied, taking two steps for every one step the woman made. "Hey, what's your son's name?"

"Kurt Wagner." Margali didn't seem to notice or care that she had the same last name as him. "He's most likely awake right now."

"Isn't kinda late, though?"

"You're up, aren't you?" Margali stopped at another trailer and gestured to the door. "He's in here." She knocked twice, before opening it. "Kurt," she announced to the inside of the caravan. "There's someone that wants to see you."

"What?" Sigfreda heard a man's voice say, as she entered the trailer. Inside, there was a large kerosene lamp burning on a table. There was a bed, too, and it was from this that she saw Kurt stand up from. An open book rested on the covers.

The first thing she noticed was that his skin was still blue. So it wasn't a costume. As he walked over to them, she saw his eyes were as yellow as ever. If she had to guess, she would say that he was in his late teens, or very early twenties. His expression was as kind as ever.

Sigfreda, who had been feeling nervous and shy the entire night, suddenly didn't think she needed to be that way anymore. Maybe it was because someone was finally referring to her by 'Gwen,' or because some internal balance had finally equalized and she knew that Kurt could help her, but it felt like...finding him had been the best idea of her life.

Boldly, unafraid, she pushed out from behind Margali and waved hello to the man before her. "Hi, my name's Gwen. You're my half-uncle."

* * *

Gwen swung her legs as she sat on her wooden chair, sipping at her hot chocolate as Kurt spoke.

"So Sigfried had children," he murmured, mulling over all of the information Gwen had given him in the past half hour.

"Yeah, he did, but it's just me. You've never met him before, have you?"

"Not officially." He ran his oddly articulated three-fingered hands through his hair. "He knew of me. And my mother told me about him."

"Margali?"

"No...my birth mother." Kurt's expression was a little sad for a moment, but he snapped out of it. "Why did you come to Germany?"

Gwen took another long swig of her drink. "Vati's cousins – well, I guess they're yours too, actually – asked us to come. One of them got sick from cancer. Her name's Alice."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is she better?"

"Yeah, she's doing okay." She thought of Alice's smile. "I think she'll be all right. But we're only here for the summer, and, well...I wanted you to help me."

"With the mind-reading? Gwen-" she grinned when he called her that – "I'm really not an expert on that."

"But...you're a mutant, right?"

He nodded. "Yes, I am. However, I hope that's not the only reason why you wanted to talk to me." His voice had a slightly accusing air, with a hint of a question in it. Gwen was about to retaliate sharply, but realized that the statement was probably a result of past experiences, and instead felt a pang of sympathy.

"No, it's not. But – I know this is gonna sound rude – you don't look..._normal_, but you blend in completely. How do you know what to do?"

Kurt looked intently at her, his yellow eyes meeting her dark brown. Gwen had the feeling that he identified, but wasn't sure what to make of her. "I don't know."

"But-" she was starting to get frustrated.

"I live in a place where my irregularities are considered normal," he cut her off. "And you live in- Buston?"

"Boston," she corrected him. "Massachusetts."

"Yes, Boston." Kurt thought for a moment. "Perhaps you can turn it into your own-" he waved his hand around himself, indicating the circus' entirety. Gwen nodded impatiently.

"Yeah, but Boston's huge!" she cried. "What if I accidentally memory-read someone? I can't possibly be friends with everyone there; they wouldn't understand if it happened!" She paused for a moment, then added sadly. "I don't even have one friend."

Kurt sighed and studied a scratch in the table. "It's late," he finally told her.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Gwen asked a bit angrily. He was _not_ trying to get rid of her. He _wasn't_.

"You should get to your house." He stood up.

"Hey!" She jumped up too, knocking the remnants of her hot chocolate over onto the floor. Neither of them noticed. "Don't kick me out! I need your help!" Gwen ran over to the door of the trailer before he could reach it and spread her arms and legs out in front of it, in a valiant effort to block him from it, although she was the one being asked to exit.

"Why are you doing that?" he inquired, looking puzzled. "I'm not trying to leave..."

Gwen had realized this the second she had done it, and was trying to retain any dignity she had left by remaining in her position. "So?" She glared at him.

He rolled his eyes, looking a little amused. "You're very stubborn."

"Help me."

"How old are you?"

"I said, 'help me.'"

"Nine? Ten?"

"I'm twelve next week. Help me!" she screamed at him.

"You're persistent."

"So what?"

"Here." He beckoned her over to where he was standing. Gwen hesitated, but saw that his face was resigned. Biting her lip, she obeyed him, leaving the door free.

He put his hands on her shoulders and stared her in the eyes. "I don't have a choice, do I? You're going to keep asking me."

"Damn straight," Gwen told him, a phrase she had heard her father's coworkers use a few times. It sounded very impressive and forceful, the right thing for that moment.

Kurt rolled his eyes again. "Twelve, you say?" He shook his head. "Gwen, if you promise to not push me – and, er...not to say 'damn straight' again – I'll do anything to help you. It probably won't be much, because I don't know anything about what you can do, but I'll help you. All right?"

Gwen grinned, her aggravation washing away. "All right."

"And you'll go home for the night?"

"Okay." She wriggled out of his grip and headed to the door. He followed her.

"Meet me here tomorrow night."

"I will." Gwen opened the door, the cool summer night air running over her exposed skin. "Bye, Kurt," she said, stepping outside and turning to face him.

"Bye, Gwen," he replied, waving at her before shutting the door. By the time it was completely closed, she was already sprinting back to the fence.


	9. Exchange

A/N: Okay, I've been on a writing kick for a while, but haven't been able to do anything about it till now. Enjoy the end product.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Gwen, her dad, and their family.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

"Hi!" Gwen twittered as she knocked open the door of Kurt's trailer. Inside, he was gasping and quickly pulling a shirt on over his head.

"You could knock!" he shouted at her, tugging the hem over his waist. She walked straight past him and began raiding his pantry.

"Yeah, well, you could be fully dressed to begin with," she replied. "I mean, you knew I was coming. Hey, I didn't have too much dinner; Edward kept giving my dad weird looks during it and he asked me to leave so they could talk. Do you have anything good to eat here?"

"There's some cookies to your left," Kurt told her. "Er...what's that book you're carrying...under your shirt?"

Gwen removed three of the pastries from the packaging and shoved them all in her mouth at once, set down the box, and pulled out the journal she had been holding against her stomach since she had left the house.

"It's nothing weird, I just didn't want to drop it. Safer this way," she said through a mouthful of crumbs. Swallowing, she set the cookies on the table and took a seat beside it. "It's a record of every single thing that's happened to the Wagner family over the years. At least, the things that I know about. I also wrote down random stuff that might be connected to other stuff. Like tonight, with Edward."

"Oh." Kurt looked impressed. "That's a good idea."

"Yeah, I know." She smugly opened the book to the first page. "I put dates where I could, and tried to organize it timewise."

"You mean chronologically?"

Gwen's expression was one of slight confusion. "Sure, chronolo...whatever it was. So I did that too, and I pumped Alice for some information. Harriet won't let her out of her room during the day, so she'll tell me a few things no one wants me to know about for revenge."

"She sounds like a nice woman." He sat down next to her and peered over at the book

"You'd like her. So it starts here, with grandpa – your dad – meeting grandma..."

This sort of conversation had been the norm ever since Gwen first met with Kurt. True to their words, they had seen each other the next night. At first, it had begun with her asking him the most seemingly random questions: Favorite color? Birthday? Foster siblings? It appeared as though she had completely forgotten that she was there to get help controlling her mutation.

However, when Kurt had asked her what she was doing, she said it was all relevant. The further it went into the night, the more personal the questions got.

"Do you ever get scared about what people might wanna do to you?" she inquired, her eyes deadly serious, all the usual impertinence she had around him gone.

He had thought for a moment, knowing perfectly well what the answer was, but not sure if he wanted to tell her. But she had given him her most direct stare, and Kurt decided it was safe to tell her.

"Yes," he admitted, returning her gaze as best as he could manage.

After the first night, which had been nothing but talking (barely any of it had been about their powers), she had come back, this time much later than before. There, she had met Amanda, Kurt's foster sister. And, as she found a second later, his girlfriend. She was pretty, with light red hair and blue eyes – exactly what Gwen would look like if she had the option. But she was careful not to mention it.

"So you're the niece," Amanda said upon meeting her. "Kurt told me about you." She had smiled then, genuine and real. Gwen had given her a fake grin back, feeling a bit awkward as she pulled her tangled black deathtrap of a mane into a ponytail. Stupid hair, she thought.

Amanda had hung around for the rest of the evening, reading a book in a different language. It had taken Gwen much longer to warm up to her than to Kurt. She had the same quiet power that her mother Margali had, and it was quite intimidating. But with promptings from Kurt, she had soon gotten to like her, even tease her a bit.

"So...sister AND girlfriend?" she had asked Amanda a few hours soon after, with a sideways glance at Kurt. The woman took it very lightly, even laughing a little.

He didn't find it nearly as amusing as they did.

Still, he let her continue visiting him, even if all they really did was ask and answer questions. But the deeper they went into each other personalities and pasts, the more they realized how many mysteries there were that connected them. It seemed daunting at times; all of the riddles and scary truths there were about their family. Finally, Gwen came up with a plan, a way to make sense of everything. She had worked on it for a couple days after her twelfth birthday, and then brought it with her when she next saw Kurt.

"...and when grandma and grandpa came to this party, that's when he met Raven."

"My mother," Kurt said quietly. Gwen didn't notice the change in his voice.

"Yeah. At that time her last name was Darkholme; did you know that?"

He shook his head no. "I knew her as Raven Wagner."

"Well, he met her there. Grandpa divorced grandma half a year later, and married Raven a little after that." Gwen flipped a page. "She wanted a kid right away, I guess, cuz they were trying to get pregnant from the start. But they couldn't, so they spent a lot of time at the doctors. Two years later-" she gestured at Kurt – "You came along."

He smiled at her, and she mirrored his expression. "I can fill in a few blanks there. I was born in the house, my father came in, saw me, and had a heart attack."

"He wouldn't have been a good dad anyways. Well, he wouldn't!" she shrieked at his shocked face. "Anyways...what happened after that? To you and Raven, I mean."

"She took me away. I think she just wandered around the country trying to hide me away from people until I was about two. Then someone saw me, and since she was near an old friend's house anyways, she ran there as fast as she could. And we stayed for a while. At least...I did." He paused for a moment, took a breath. "She left me there one night, and I haven't seen her since."

He lowered his eyes to the table, and Gwen followed this act, before speaking. "Did she say why she was leaving?"

"No, I was asleep."

"Oh..." she shuddered involuntarily. Vati was her only parent, and she couldn't imagine a life with him not in it. If he were to disappear without so much as a word, Gwen had no idea how she could continue going on. How Kurt had managed, she had no idea.

They were silent for a moment longer, taking comfort in their shared emotions of fear and loss, before he spoke again. "I stayed at her friend's house for a couple of more years. Actually, the friend died a few months after Raven left, so I was left alone with her daughter." His face, if it was possible, darkened even more. "I ran away right before I turned eight, and came here. Mom found me, and...I stayed with her."

"How come you don't call Raven mom and only Margali?" Gwen asked.

"Because Raven never acted like a mother. Mom did."

"That makes sense..." She sighed through her nose. It was definitely time for a subject change. "So after you were born, during all of that stuff, Vati stayed for grandpa's funeral, then went back with his mother to America. He went to college, got a Ph. D in history, and got a job at a really good high school as a teacher. And then – well, all this stuff is from his memories, so it might be wrong. But no matter what, you're not allowed to laugh."

"I won't," Kurt promised, finally looking back up at her.

"Okay. Well, in his mind, I saw him talking to a room full of kids. I don't know how old they were, but they were definitely teenagers – fifteen, sixteen maybe. But Vati – I don't know how to explain it – it's like, there were maybe twenty people there, but he was only talking to this one girl."

"Why that one girl?"

"I don't know...well, I think I do, but I kind of don't want it to be true. She was sitting in the front row, and looking right back at him. And Kurt..."

"Yes, Gwen?"

"I'm not sure, but I think she might have been my mom."

Kurt looked stunned. "Do you mean...did she have you when she was that age? When Sigfried was still her teacher?"

Gwen nodded. "He told me once that he was twenty-seven when I was born. He was twenty-two when he left school, twenty-three when he got the job, and he taught there for four more years. I was born about three months after he left. But my birthday was last week – late July – so that means he left the school in May. That's too early to be normal. What if he had to leave, because one of his students was pregnant?"

"So you think your mother was sixteen when you were born? And your father was eleven years older than her at the time?" He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Well, he still is eleven years older now. Maybe twelve, I don't know."

"Oh..." He considered this. "Wait. How do you know for certain? "

"She looked like me." Gwen pushed her hair out of her face, demonstrating. "Her eyes were brown. Dark brown, and they made it look like she was part Asian. Maybe half. I have that too. And her face was round, like me. Oh, and she had freckles." She tapped her nose. "I don't see how see isn't my mom. She looks like it, and my dad had to leave the school after meeting her. And then I was born. It's too much of a coincidence. Plus, he doesn't ever talk about her. I don't know her name."

"So you think his reluctance to talk about her comes from his shame of...er...having a baby with a sixteen year old girl?"

"It all fits." Gwen stared down at her book, studying all the notes she had made about her parents to defend her argument. "My mom must be twenty-seven now. Huh, that's the same age Vati was when they met."

"Wow," Kurt muttered, his amber eyes wide open. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

"After I met you. I tried not to think about it at first, because it's so...weird, but I think talking about it is better. So I've been trying to make sense of it for a while, so you could help me with it."

"All right. Did I help?"

"Yes, you did. No one back at the house talks to me, except for Alice, and she won't say anything against my Vati." Gwen turned over another page. "Talking about all of this mom stuff makes me dizzy. Let's keep going."

"Okay. Pass the cookies." She followed his command, and he began eating slowly. "Danke."

"You're welcome. So anyways, here I made some notes about the conversations Vati keeps having with Edward and Harriet."

"Not Alice?"

"No, they think she's not up to it. They're wrong, she's fine – stronger than I am, actually. Yesterday she picked up her wheelchair and threw it at Harriet's cat. Oh, don't give me that look, the stupid animal tried to scratch me for no reason."

"That's doesn't mean-" Kurt tried, but she interrupted him.

"So she's great and everyone is just being really not smart about it. Now when Harriet first called Vati in America, he said he hadn't talked to her since I was born...probably because of the whole 'having sex with a kid' thing-"

"Gwen!"

"This may be a shock to you, Kurt, but people my age know what sex is," Gwen said sarcastically, sucking a piece of chocolate off of her thumb. "Although I admit most of my knowledge comes from TV. Well, they haven't talked since all that happened till this summer, but on the phone, Vati said he wasn't talking about 'that' with her, because I was in the room. I think it was about my mom."

Kurt tugged the book out from underneath her folded arms and started reading some of the notes she had made. " '_Harriet and Sigfried argue about circus trip; catch me listening at door. Pretend to have lost inhaler. 'Find' it under a table in the hallway. Run away and have lunch with Alice in her room. Discover a loose tooth. Really lose inhaler. Find it in pocket an hour later_.' You trail off a lot, Gwen."

"I know what I wrote, that's why I get to read." She pulled the book back towards herself, looking a little embarrassed. "Hey...wanna see my tooth?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Gwen leaned in, with her mouth open wide. "It's a molar," she announced proudly. "My last baby tooth." She wiggled it with her tongue.

"Good for you," Kurt told her, revealing his own fangs. That made her giggle uncontrollably. She loved being with him.

"How long have I been here?" she asked, when she finally calmed down a bit. He glanced down at his watch.

"About an hour. It's near midnight."

"Okay, thanks. I think Vati feels guilty about leaving me at the house every morning to go hang out with Harriet and Edward, cuz he said he would take me to breakfast tomorrow. I'm going to try to get him to take Alice with us. I have to leave early tonight, though."

"What's early for you?"

"In half an hour, I guess. I don't get much sleep." This was true. Ever since she had begun these late meetings with Kurt, she had to go on very little rest. Her eyes were always a bit puffy, and her limbs ached from lack of energy. However, exhaustion was something that a body could get used to very easily. Maybe she could train herself to not need as much sleep. "How come you don't mind that up come here so late?"

"I'm usually up anyways – insomnia. That's why my circus title is Nightcrawler."

"Because...you crawl the night?"

"Mom made it up when I was a kid." Kurt suddenly ducked his head. "I wish I didn't tell you that."

"Ha! It's a pet name!" Gwen shrieked, laughing. "Aww...that's so cute!"

"Oh, shut up."

"Baby Kurt the Nightcrawler!"

"Very funny," he moaned, his tone sardonic.

"Can I call you Nightie?" Gwen chuckled. Suddenly, she felt a sort of gentle calm come over her body, accompanied with a slight annoyance.

"You're not the only person to think of that," Kurt said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh yeah? Who else has called you that?" Gwen asked, still feeling rather uncommonly mellow.

"I beg your pardon? I didn't say anything." Kurt looked at her, his eyes questioning. He had heard perfectly well what she had said. What was he doing?

"I said, 'Who else has called you that?'" She frowned. "Because you said, 'You're not the only person to think of that.'"

"No, I didn't."

"I heard you! Why are you being weird? You didn't say anything bad."

"I didn't say anything." Kurt wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. "I _thought_ it."


	10. Remembrance

A/N: Merry Christmakwanzaakkuh, everyone! I'm now the proud owner of a Gwen Stefani CD and a computerized sewing machine (I make a lot of my own clothes. Less expensive, much cooler).

Happy New Year, as well.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for the aforementioned stuff. And Gwen and Co.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

"What number am I thinking of?" Kurt asked exhaustedly.

"Three thousand and twelve." Gwen yawned and began rocking back and forth.

"What word?"

"Sword."

"What am I thinking about?"

"That you're tired and bored with these little exercises and you can't remember where you put _Captain Blood_."

"Yes, that's completely right." Kurt glanced at the clock by his bed and sighed. "Gwen, it's very late. No, wait, it's very early. Shouldn't you get to bed soon?"

"Probably." She ignored his suggestion and instead stretched out on her back over his bed sheets, her legs draped onto the floor beneath her. Kurt was sitting upright against his headboard, pinching the bridge of his nose in fatigue. Gwen knew she had been overstaying her welcome for quite a while, but was too exhausted to leave. "I think I'm going to fall asleep."

"Your father will notice you're missing."

"Oh. Right." The truth of his statement was what eventually propelled her to sit upright, sighing. Then, with her new mental powers, she addressed him telepathically: _Come with me?_

_Why?_

_I'm going home next week_, she told him with a slight hint of sadness.

Summer was drawing to a close. Although both Sigfried and Gwen were happier in Europe than they had ever been in America – he with his reclaimed family, she with her newly found – but she had to go back to school in the fall, and he needed to resume his job at the movie store. However, Kurt and the circus would not be staying in Germany much longer either. They would be off performing in Paris in just over a month. The idea of separating from her uncle was fairly upsetting, but she hadn't found a way of addressing the problem. Asking him to walk home with her was the initiation of what would be a very long, painful goodbye.

Upon her request, Kurt had nodded resignedly and stood up, offering his three-fingered hand to Gwen. She took it, and used his strong arm as leverage to pull herself off of the bed. The sudden change of blood flow in her body resulted in dizziness, and she fell against the man in front of her, almost knocking him over. Rather than push her away, he patiently steadied her and lead the way to the door of his trailer.

Outside, the dark sky sprinkled with a few brilliant stars. Gwen smiled up at them – they always made her feel so comfortable and at the same time thrillingly small; it was hard not to enjoy the sight of them late at night – but also noticed the faint tinge of lavender pink on the horizon. It really was extremely late. Or, as Kurt had said, early.

"Sorry for keeping you up," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. He shook his head.

"It's not a problem," he assured her. As they approached the gate in front of the circus, he began fumbling through the pockets of his jeans, searching for the keys to the padlock. Everyone in the troupe, from the acrobats to the cooks, had the copy, ensuring their freedom. Kurt was no exception.

After they had made it out onto the road leading to Gwen's house, he crossed his arms. This act wasn't a sign of incendiary attitude, but rather an effort to warm his forearms. The air had been getting cooler as the season dwindled into autumn. However, she had known this when she had left that night, and doubled up on her shirts. The weather only bothered her exposed face and hands, the latter of which she stuck in her pockets. As an afterthought, she removed her arm from her side and wound it through Kurt's. He didn't object, but instead smiled down at her.

"It's too bad you're not going to be with us in France," he said. "Stefan goes to school there. You could have met him."

"Wish I could go," she grumbled. In addition to the incentive of meeting Kurt and Amanda's brother, the idea of another school year made her feel ill and filled her with desperate longing to go with her uncle. But her father would never let her. He didn't even know that Gwen had been sneaking out every night.

Kurt laughed, though, as if he had read her mind. "If you can convince Sigfried to let you come with us, then by all means, go ahead."

"Thanks, but the law says I have to be subjected to torture."

He looked at her quizzically.

"Seventh grade."

"Ah."

"Everyone in my class is an idiot, anyway. I think it's because I'm a year older than all of them." She sniffed disdainfully. "I'm too mature for them."

"Yes, that's probably it." He laughed again, then thought about her words. "Why are you a year older?"

Gwen had a sour expression. "I was held back in preschool. Apparently they thought I was deaf. Turns out I just didn't feel like talking to other people."

"Why not?"

"I don't remember. I bet it was because everyone kept calling me Skeletor."

"Skeletor?"

"That's a really old cartoon character, who happened to look like...well, a skeleton."

"I see." Kurt looked as if he was trying not to laugh. Gwen pushed him.

"Oh, stop it! It's not funny."

"I know." Despite this, he was still grinning. She shoved him again.

"It's great that you think my being teased is so funny," she said sarcastically. He shook his head, his fangs still showing.

"No, I don't. Children are, though."

"If they're so great, how come you didn't go to school?" Gwen asked, still annoyed by his previous declarations. He rolled his eyes at this, however.

"Guess," he told her. She momentarily regretted her question, knowing it had been a bit rude, and loosened her disapproving frown. Seeing that she had done this, he continued talking. "I learned how to read when I was younger – there wasn't very much else to do when I was living with Raven's friend – but Mom has taught me some math. It's not much, though. I'm not good at it."

"No one likes it." Gwen said this with an air of total conviction, having undergone several dreadful experiences with numbers. The upcoming grade would introduce her to basic algebra, something she was not looking forward to in the least.

Kurt squeezed her arm against his side affectionately, nodding in agreement. "She gave up when I was sixteen. I'm surprised she stuck with it for so long." He stared down at her – he needed to crane his neck a bit, she was so short – and when she said nothing more, he finally touched on the topic that had been previously mentioned.

"Are you going to come back to Germany?" he asked her. She glanced up at him, then stared down at her slowly moving feet.

"I don't know," she finally admitted, after a brief pause. "Vati's certainly hinted at it enough. He really likes being with his cousins again - well, they're your cousins, too. I think he really wants to come back next summer. It all depends on whether or not he can leave his job again. I don't know why they wouldn't let him; he's their best employee. Wouldn't they want him to be happy?"

"That makes sense," Kurt said. "But if you are here next year, my circus is always around the city during the season."

"Really?" Gwen, who had been feeling quite desperate the past few weeks, suddenly felt her hopes rise the smallest amount. Her anxiety had been like a heavy wet blanket thrown across her body, and the slight relief her uncle's implication had brought her helped her breath a little more easily. Subconsciously, she remembered the inhaler sitting on her bedroom table back at the house. "So...we could see each other again?"

Kurt thought for a moment. "Maybe, if everything works out. But I have an idea."

"Yeah? What is it?" Gwen stopped Kurt from moving. Her house was just down the road now, and she knew the family wouldn't take the unexpected arrival of their mutant relative kindly. Bringing him all the way there would not be a good idea.

He pulled his arm out from hers, and turned to face his niece. "We could write to each other. If you can get to your mail before your father sees my letters, then I can send you the new addresses of the circus. So even if we don't see each other next year, we can still talk to each other." He studied her expression. "Gwen?"

She was grinning broadly, the happiest she had been in a long while. "That's perfect! Vati's usually at the store in the afternoon anyway, so I can get the mail before he comes home." Feeling quite lightheaded with respite from worry, she began jumping up and down. "How come I didn't think of that?" she shrieked. Her screams pierced the still morning air, and Kurt smiled too.

As Gwen was celebrating rather loudly, her extreme exhilaration suddenly began melting a little, giving way to a calmer, more acquiescent joy. With a jolt, she stopped bouncing, realizing that she was tuned in to her uncle's mind frequency once again. However, when she had been reading his thoughts, she had only gotten a glimpse of his emotions. She was a bit deep at the moment, heavily surrounded by Kurt's emotions; similar to when she had read Sigfried's memories...

Then, in an instant, his past became her own, and it was too real and scary.

_...Kurt as a baby, listening to Raven cry in her sleep..._

_...Kurt in Raven's friend's house, watching the daughter, Caroline, glare at him..._

_...Kurt holding his arms over his head as Caroline hit him..._

_...Kurt being held under the bathtub water, praying for his life..._

_...Kurt sobbing in his room after finding out that Raven left him so totally alone..._

_...Raven's friend's body on the floor, stiff and cold from a heart attack..._

_...Caroline yelling "Freak!" at him until her voice grew hoarse..._

_...Kurt somehow managing to disappear from her rough grasp and reappear a few feet away, shrouded in a cloud of bluish smoke..._

_...Kurt running for his life, the cut on his arm throbbing..._

_...Margali finding him under her caravan and taking him inside, where it was warm and safe..._

_...Kurt being shown how to operate a trapeze, feeling proud of his own natural ability for the first time..._

_...Kurt watching Amanda brush her red hair..._

_...Kurt spotting the scrawny, ragged girl sitting near him in the stands of the circus and winking at her..._

Abruptly, Kurt's storm of memories stopped coursing through Gwen's head, and they were back on the road, facing each other. His face looked slightly worried, and his mouth was moving. It took her a few seconds before she heard him ask if she was all right.

She wasn't, of course, but he had no idea of what had just occured. For a moment, she toyed with the notion of telling him about it. Before she did, however, she glanced at his forearm. The scar there was perhaps slightly more jagged than the others covering his body, and for an second she could feel her own skin smarting.

"I'm fine," she managed to sputter out finally, before faking a yawn. "I think I just need some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow, Kurt."

He nodded, before saying, "Goodbye," turning around, and walking back the opposite way they had come, still not looking completely assured that she was okay.

As Gwen was watching him disappear into the distance, she let her breath catch up with her pulse before even trying to remember what she had just seen. It was all so frightening, much worse than her father's. He had actually been threatened; he had believed that he was going to die. How old had he been there? Four? Five? She wasn't sure what the worst part of it had been, but the image of him crying after Raven had left him stuck out the most. Shuddering, she began to trundle up towards her house, where she knew her Sigfried would be waiting. At least she could count on him.

Kurt's memories were everything she had been scared of seeing. Briefly, she remembered her old friend Liam...the permanent dark circles under his eyes; his distracted, empty stare; the five fingerprint bruises he had on his arm one morning. The deep purple was set forever into her mind, burning for eternity.

Gwen reached up to touch her frozen cheek and started when she found a tear coursing down it.


	11. Correspondence

A/N: Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry. Sorry this took so long to update! I've had midterms for a while, and right after that I got a terrible case of writer's block. I think it was the worst I ever had.

Please, enjoy the results.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even this computer.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Gwen watched Linda rifle through her heavy backpack expectantly. "It's here somewhere," the other girl muttered, her thin blonde hair obstructing her face. "Hope it's not broken...here it is!" She triumphantly held the object aloft, letting Gwen remove it from her grasp: a CD, its cover scratched and weak from overuse.

"Thanks," she told Linda, who grinned in response.

"The second track is the best," she said. " 'Think of Me.' Totally brilliant."

Their friend Tony, who was standing nearby, snorted and rolled his eyes. He, at most, barely tolerated the girls' love of theatrical music, preferring the more modern grunge of the time. His clothes matched this inclination: they were shapeless, ragged, and stained with something that looked like motor oil (his father owned in a autobody shop). Gwen often wondered if he wore such garments voluntarily, or he just didn't feel like changing from his work rags to cleaner items.

"Shut up, Tony," Linda retorted, standing up straight again and peering over Gwen's shoulder at the CD. She pointed at one of the songs with one of her blue-tipped fingers. "There. See it?"

"Yeah. You wanna listen?" She looked up as Linda nodded enthusiastically. Tony groaned loudly.

"For the love of god," he muttered. "Not again."

"Shut up, Tony!" Gwen said. "We said we were sorry about the last time. You can't even see the stitches anymore."

The three were over at Gwen's apartment, as was usual ever since they had met each other. Most days after school they would spend a few hours listening to each other's music on Linda's CD player and eating whatever was in the fridge at the time. Food for the Wagners had become more plentiful ever since their visit to Germany: their cousins had decided to send over money every month. Had it been anyone else, Sigfried would have declined petulantly, but his family was a special case. Their charity was gracefully accepted, something Gwen was extraordinarily thankful for. Occasionally, their electricity would get shut off, but not nearly as often as when she had been younger. Now it was a true annoyance, rather than a fact of life.

Sigfried's reunion with his cousins had changed him. Perhaps comparing himself to his past life had been the motivation, but he had finally started to look for a better job, one more suited to his intellect. He was forever buying newspapers and spending breakfasts circling career opportunities in the 'wanted' ads.

"Everything will be different," he promised his daughter as she ate her cereal. "We will move out of this place. You can go to a better school. We will have some control over our lives." He smiled as he said this, but to himself, as though he were remembering something. Milk dribbled down her chin as she tried to beam.

This positive change in attitude was not the only discrepancy in their household. Ever since meeting Kurt, Gwen had become decidedly more outgoing with her classmates, and made friends with two of them: Tony and Linda.

They were new to the school that year, but the way they carried themselves into Gwen's classroom, one never would have known this. They were chatting confidently with each other as they sat in the desks next to Gwen. The boy was dressed in clothing similar to hers, albeit much dirtier. The girl had been dressed in the most bizarre outfit she had ever seen.

She wore a striped red and black ski hat, gray cargos with all of the pockets weighed down by what sounded like change, and a form fitting neon pink tank top so bright it had made Gwen feel like her corneas were contracting in shock. "Do you think mimes ever get married?" the oddly garbed girl had asked as she sat down.

"No," she had replied, momentarily shocked. This was met with a nonchalant shrug.

"Yeah, that makes sense. My name is Linda." She held out her hand, and Gwen shook it.

"I'm Gwen, but people here are gonna call me Sigfreda a lot. It's my first name."

"Oh, that sucks."

"Yeah, I know." Her gaze flickered over at the boy briefly, but her shyness forced her to turn to her backpack as surreptitiously as possible. Linda noticed, however, and seemed to want to change her attitude.

"This is Tony," she said, jerking her thumb to her right. He waved, dark blue eyes squinting behind his large black-framed glasses.

The shade of his irises suddenly reminded her of Kurt's skin, and she inhaled slowly, feeling a bit braver. They had joined her, and maybe they'd like her if she allowed them to do so.

"Hi, Tony," she'd finally said.

Linda had soon changed the subject to music, sparking a heated debate between the three of them. The girls both liked Broadway, but he preferred the rock his older brothers listened to constantly. Gwen didn't mind this, though. Finally she had found someone who shared at least one of her interests.

Over the weeks, the three had become more and more friendly with each other, forming their own rituals and traditions. For example, every day after school they'd march over to her house, raid her fridge, and argue happily until her friends had to go home.

Sigfried didn't seem to mind the fact that the three children were always devouring his food. He was usually at work in the afternoons, and preferred it when his daughter had company in their building. However, she had her own reasons for wanting her friends to be there after school.

Tony glanced at his watch. "It's three thirty," he announced. "The mail's here."

Linda, who had been fumbling with the wires connected to her CD player, set the contraption down and stood up. "Gwen?"

"I'll get the keys and then we'll go down," she told them, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

She had told Linda and Tony about her uncle. She had described everything about him – his looks, how they had met, his teleportation abilities, his career (this delighted Linda beyond all measure), and his relationship with the Wagner family. They had taken it rather well, in Gwen's opinion. Perhaps it was because they were so different themselves, but the idea of mutants didn't scare them as much as others.

Despite this, she still hadn't told them about her own powers. They hadn't ever met Kurt. To them, he was just a distant connection to one of their friends. If she revealed her secret, maybe it would become too real for them. They could leave her, or worse, tell her father, causing him to abandon her as well.

Her friends were aware of Gwen's contact with Kurt, and eagerly awaited his letters nearly as much as she did. They usually arrived a week or so after she wrote to him, at which point the three children would walk downstairs to the mailboxes on the ground floor of her building. It would be sandwiched between a few bills and one of her father's magazines, filled with occasional circus posters and pictures from Kurt's travels. These gifts were kept in a box beneath her bed, where she was almost certain Sigfried would never look.

She had tossed the key to their apartment on the kitchen table, setting her backpack on top of them. Shoving the bag aside, she picked them up and ran back into the living room.

"We'll listen when we get back," Gwen promised Linda, who had managed to untangle her headphones and set them on the couch beside her. She nodded and stood up, bending down briefly to straighten her blue thigh-high stockings. The spring weather was warm, but the girl didn't seem to notice it, by the way she dressed. She didn't enjoy shopping for clothing all that much, but instead preferred to wear her sister's old hand-me-downs. It resulted in a rather abnormal appearance for a twelve-year-old girl, but neither her family nor friends cared.

Tony was already in the hallway by the time the girls had gotten ready, rubbing his glasses on the edge of his shirt in an effort to clean them. He was narrowing his eyes, as he always did whenever he removed his spectacles from his face. He was nearly blind without them, and Gwen usually took this opportunity to tease him.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, as she twisted the key in the lock.

Linda laughed as he put his glasses back on. "That's really old," he told her, running his fingers through his dark hair. "And stupid."

"You're stupid," she countered as they went to the elevator. Tony shoved her into a wall, grinning. She lost her balance for a moment, before regaining it and pushing him into Linda.

The three of them tussled with each other until the elevator arrived. It was clunking sadly and, as it had been ever since Gwen could remember, in desperate need of repair. The doors seemed to be stuck, but a hard kick from the boy opened them up. One of the lights on the ceiling was cracked, but there was still sufficient illumination for the three to ride in comfort.

There was a brief period of panic when they arrived at the ground floor and Linda, as enthusiastic as usual, jumped as high as she could to obtain the feeling of gravity defiance. The elevator stopped the instant her feet had met the ground again, but before they could really start to be terrified, it began moving once more.

"That thing is a deathtrap," Tony mumbled nervously as they stepped into the lobby. "We're taking the stairs on the way up."

"That was awesome!" Linda shrieked, rushing out before them and tripping on a torn piece of the carpet, falling on her front. "OW!"

Gwen ignored both of them. She agreed on all accounts, but the filled mailboxes in front of her were distracting. The container labeled "3F" was packed with envelopes, and one of them was considerably thicker than the rest.

"It's here!" she squealed, skipping over happily.

* * *

" 'Dear Gwen,'" Gwen read aloud. Tony and Linda were sitting on either side of her. The boy was peering over her shoulder attentively, but the girl was fidgeting with her boot. "Linda...are you listening?"

"I think there's carpet stuck in my zipper."

"We're reading without you, then." She cleared her throat. " 'Dear Gwen, How are you? I'm afraid there's nothing of real interest going on right now. We're traveling to Prague at the moment (I'm writing from Mom's truck at the moment, which is why my handwriting is worse than usual) and are staying for the next month. I'll send you pictures as soon as we take them.

" 'I've put a few posters in this letter. Josef drew them last week, and as soon as we settle in, we'll put them all over the area. If you look in the bottom left corner of the third one – it's covered in stars – you'll see the newest recruit. His name is Christophe, and he's working as an acrobat. He's a nice enough man, a few years older than me, I suppose. Amanda seems to like him quite a bit, but I think it'll take me just a bit longer to warm up to him. It's nothing serious, but-" Gwen paused briefly, taking in the next few words, but not reading them aloud. _'Every so often I catch him staring at me more than people normally do. I believe I'm used to this, but he unnerves me a bit.'_

Tony was still reading over her shoulder, and mouthed the last sentence silently before looking up at Gwen. He was frowning slightly, and she reciprocated his negative thoughts. Linda was still fiddling with her shoe.

"Why'd you stop?" she asked, grimacing as she yanked on the zipper of her boot.

Gwen glanced at Tony, who nodded. "This guy's creeping Kurt out."

Linda snapped up, and began skimming over the man's spidery handwriting. "It'll be fine," she said, although she did not look completely sure of this. "He's just not used to your uncle."

"I guess." Gwen brushed her hair out of her face. " 'But your last letter didn't have nearly enough about yourself in it! Yes, I've told Stefan all about you. He'll adore you when you two meet, although I must ask you not to repeat that joke I wrote to you a while back to him. If you were to do so, it would take a long time to regain his respect.'"

"What joke?" Linda inquired eagerly.

"Oh, you know, I told you. A man goes into a sauna with a lobster..."

"I love that one!" Tony screeched, a far cry from his usual mordant personality.

"Yeah, you sure did. 'However, if you are coming to Germany again this summer, chances are that Stefan will be home from school then.

" 'I apologize for the lack of any real substance to this letter, but there's really nothing of true importance to write about. Tell your friend Linda that if she ever comes to Germany, I'll gladly give her tickets for our circus, and ask Tony what it means when a car makes a large clunking noise whenever the key is put in the ignition (I'm afraid that Mom's truck doesn't have much life left). Write soon, to the address on the front of the envelope. Love, Kurt. P.S: The word 'idiotish' does not exist, contrary to what you think.'"

She looked back up from the letter, flipping through the rest of the papers sent by her uncle, her friends on either side of her couch and her father just about to return home.

It seemed impossible that such a bizarre life could be so wonderful, but Gwen now knew it could happen.


	12. Introduction

A/N: Hey there! Moulin Rouge rocks!

Okay, the updates for this story may take a bit longer because I just adopted a story from the amazing Jinxeh. It's called Hindsight, and it's for Pirates of the Carribean (my first story outside the X-Men fandom)! I'll do my absolute best, though.

Disclaimer: Own nothing. As usual.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Kurt's forehead wrinkled slightly as he gingerly pulled the tape off of his hands. He growled a little from the minor pain, although he was more than used to it. It was necessary for practice on his routine, and complaining about it was fruitless. Everyone else had to wear it as well. Besides, the ache was nothing compared to what it had felt like to carve the scars into the now exposed skin.

Momentarily, he traced one of the markings on the back of his wrist with the large index finger of his other hand, feeling his insides squirm slightly at the memory of the knife sliding across his body and leaving a thin trail of welling blood in its wake. For an instant, it was as if he could see this morbid sight once more. He quickly shut his eyes.

Despite what people naturally assumed when they first noticed his scars, Kurt was not the type of person who enjoyed gory things. True, injuries were a huge part of an acrobat's life – he couldn't say how many times he'd seen his coworkers break their various limbs – but even so, when watching horror films or such, he usually spent a good part of the movie trying to turn away from the bloodier parts as surreptitiously as possible.

Kurt had been very young when he had put the scars on his skin, perhaps too young to really know any better. But there wasn't a day that went by when he regretted his actions. He had come to think of the markings as a physical testament to his faith, and was used to seeing them move with his skin as fluidly as water droplets down glass. They were a part of his body the second he had made them so, and had become a part of his soul as he grew older.

Feeling a little less queasy, he opened his eyes, brushed his hair out of his eyes (it had gotten very long – he needed to ask Amanda to cut it again), and briefly glanced out of the window of his caravan. It was very close to midnight, and the black sky was dotted with a multitude of bright stars. It was dark inside as well, although there was glowing light coming from the kerosene lamp, illuminating the room. Kurt grinned as he saw who had been responsible for this radiance. Beside the table that the lamp was resting on was a pullout cot, and on top of that was his foster brother, Stefan.

The older man was in a deep slumber. He lay on his back with a book in his limp hand, barely held open to a particular page by his thumb. Kurt's smile widened. He, Margali, and Amanda rarely got to see him, so naturally he spent their time together reading books from his monastery. Kurt walked over to Stefan and tugged the paperback from his grip as gently as possible, trying to not wake him up. His efforts, however, were useless; he began to stir the instant his arm was moved.

"Hmm?" he mumbled sleepily as he sat up. "Who's-"

"Sorry," Kurt told him. "Go back to sleep, Stefan."

Stefan did not obey this command. Instead, he rubbed his eyes, looking a bit more alert. "How long have you been here?"

Kurt pushed his curls out of his face once more. "Only a few minutes. How long have you been asleep?"

"Oh, I can't remember. An hour or so...?" Stefan swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood, stretching his sides. "How was rehearsal?"

"Fine. It ran quite long, though, I've only just gotten back." He sighed, feeling a bit guilty about waking his brother up – he hated being disturbed when he was asleep – and strode over to his own bed, flopping down exhaustedly onto his front with much less grace than usual, his face resting in his pillow. "What are you doing?"

"I was hoping to finish that book tonight, so I'm making some tea. Care for any?"

"No, thank you," Kurt replied, his voice muffled. "I'm planning to sleep for the next twelve hours."

"Then I'll try not to make too much noise," Stefan replied, with a hint of a smile in his usually somber voice. Kurt grinned again, his fangs rubbing against the pillowcase before he rolled over onto his back, running his tongue over his teeth to remove the sensation.

He was still in his day attire, he realized as he tried to slip beneath his blankets. Groaning quietly, he looked over at the chair where his nightclothes had been messily tossed early that morning. In his current state of fatigue, it seemed as though standing up, walking those three feet, and changing were like performing a marathon. Instead, he pulled off his shirt while remaining in his horizontal position and threw it towards the end of his bed.

For a brief moment, while Kurt's bare skin brushed against his sheets, he was strongly reminded that he hadn't been alone with Amanda for a very long while...

However, the feeling quickly passed as his studied his brother bustling about his makeshift kitchen. It was extremely odd that he thought of his girlfriend's blood brother as his own true sibling, but then again, nothing in his life could really be considered normal. He could clearly remember a time when he would have given anything for this statement to be false. Now he was more thankful for it than anything else.

Sighing contentedly, Kurt sank further beneath his covers, letting his eyelids droop shut of their own accord. He hadn't been kidding when he had revealed his plans for rest to Stefan; it had been an extraordinarily long day for him. Give it a few more minutes, and there would be only a slight amount of distractions that could bother him. This knowledge seemed to encourage his soporific mood, for barely any time passed before his mind went completely, blissfully blank.

Nevertheless, Kurt had the benefit of just a couple seconds of rest before he was woken up by Stefan's shocked shout, followed by the sound of a splash and a loud shattering. He immediately shot up out of bed, the blankets bunching around his hips. Heart pounding in alarm, his head swiveled around to locate the source of his brother's terror, before following the other man's gaze to the window of the caravan.

He started when the sight that had scared Stefan so met his eyes: a grotesque face was pressed against the glass, its nose flattened wide and the eyes crossed towards each other. A heavy tongue hung out of the mouth as well, tapering into a point that just barely stopped short of licking the pane. Surrounding all of this was a veil of tangled curls. On either side, a hand was squashed palm-down on the window.

It took Kurt a moment for his mind to truly register who was standing outside. The instant he jumped out of bed and rushed over, the face pulled itself away from the glass, laughing. It was only then, in their natural state, that he was able to recognize the young features.

_"Gwen!"_

_

* * *

_

"May I ask, my dear child, what possessed you to try and frighten your uncle at this late hour?" Stefan asked Gwen as he swept up the shard of clay that now littered the floor of the caravan. "Not to mention scaring the wits out of me at the same time."

The girl carefully picked up one of the larger fragments by her foot and tossed it into the nearby trash bin. "I really don't know. Again, sorry." Her eyes flickered over to Kurt, and her expression changed from sober to amused. "You guys jumped a lot, though," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for them to hear.

Kurt, who was more than used to this sort of response from the girl, simply rolled his eyes. Stefan was a different matter, however, having never met her until that night. He opened his mouth to reply, looking slightly frustrated, but appeared to change his mind when he saw his younger brother shake his head.

"I've heard a lot about you."

"Whatever they said, it's a lie." Gwen threw another shard into the trash and grinned up at him. "Just kidding. Only half of it is true."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Gwen, I thought you weren't coming for another few weeks." Kurt interrupted their conversation, before she gave his brother even more reason to find her irritating. She turned to him.

"Dad really wanted to come. I figured I would surprise you." Her smile widened. "Surprised?"

"Yes." Kurt noticed, with a little disbelief, that she had referred to Sigfried as 'Dad' rather than her usual 'Vati,' and wondered at the sudden change. His eyes swept over her frame, as though he would be able to find out why from her physical form. However, he realized that the sight did indeed tell him what he wanted to know.

Gwen had grown quite a bit during the year, and not just in height (though she was a few more inches taller – even so, she was still shorter than the average child). Her unruly hair was much longer, now just stopping short of the small of her back, and her round, childish face had begun to grow more angular as well. The discrepancies were not limited to her head, however, and Kurt winced as he noted with the protective eyes of her relative the slight budding beneath her shirt. Even the way she dressed had changed. She still wore jeans, but they fit her properly, rather than sagging around her hips (these too had widened), and there wasn't a single one of her father's articles of clothing on her. Everything had been tailored for a girl who was making the transition into a young lady.

"What are you looking at?" Gwen brusquely inquired of him, scratching her scalp.

Maybe not a young lady.

Even so, she was definitely growing older. Kurt had met her only a year before, but in corresponding with her, had gotten quite attached. At the moment, it seemed a bit painful to have to watch her turn into the woman she would become one day, but he realized that it was part of being family with someone. There was nothing he could do but put it out of his mind and let nature take its course.

"I'm not looking at anything. How are Tony and Linda?" Kurt sat at the table, figuring that Stefan would be able to finish getting the last two shards off the floor. Gwen knelt by his feet, facing him.

"They're good. I can't believe I have to go two months without seeing them, though." She smiled. "How cool is that? I miss someone at home."

"It's...cool," Kurt replied, the word fitting in his mouth uncomfortably. At the same time, her sudden depth impressed him. "Miss me?"

"Of course."

"How's Sigfried?"

"He's looking for a job. It's not going as well as it could be, though, it's that stupid jail time thing-"

"Your brother went to prison?" Stefan asked Kurt, setting the trash bin in its rightful place. His eyes were wide.

"Yes," he said, looking down at Gwen. She was rubbing her tongue between her cheek and gums, a little embarrassed.

"What for?" came the inevitable question.

"Er...sleeping with my mom when she was like sixteen and he was eleven years older," she mumbled quickly, just barely decipherable.

Stefan looked shocked. "Oh, my," he muttered, crossing himself.

"He's not a pedophile-"

"No, he's not. How are your – our – cousins?" Kurt once again intervened between the two, sensing the possibility of an argument.

Gwen's gaze stayed on Stefan. "They're good too. Alice got a really cute new haircut, a short bob, and she doesn't have to use the wheelchair anymore. Harriet and Edward are still being all careful about her, though." Her line of vision trailed onto Kurt's face. "Where's Amanda?"

"She's staying with Mom while Stefan's here. She might be here tomorrow night, if you come by."

"I will. Tell her I say hi in the morning." She lowered her voice. "Is Christophe...is he okay?"

He nodded. "There's nothing to worry about. It's not unusual. He's just getting used to me."

"But hasn't he known you for like four months now?" she asked crossly, waving her fist in the air.

"I'm fine, Gwen. Don't worry about it."

"But you kept mentioning him in your letters." She narrowed her eyes in concentration. "You are so worried."

"No mind-reading without my permission." Kurt stood up. She straightened as well.

"Then what's the point? Tell me where he stays at night. I'll go talk to him."

"No, you won't. You'll kick him in the shins."

"Well, he'll at least get the message, won't he?"

Stefan piped up. "Gwen, conflict won't help."

"Oh, yes it will," she said, turning to face him.

"No, it won't." He sat down in the chair opposite to the one Kurt had been in a moment before. "With all due respect, I know more about this than you do. Retaliating has never solved anything when it came to those who had problems with my brother's appearance. There have been far worse cases than this. Leave it alone."

"But-"

"Stefan's right, Gwen." Kurt sat down again. She furrowed her brow in frustration, before relaxing and resuming her spot by his feet.

"Oh, _fine_. But if anything happens, don't cry to me." She glared at Stefan, who raised his eyebrow in response.

Kurt ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. This had been, undoubtedly, the worst possible way for his uncle and his niece to be introduced to each other.


	13. Daring

A/N: Tons of credit and a half goes to Jinxeh (my new bestie!) for pretty much writing the new summary (I made my own alterations, but most of it is hers) and giving me great advice for the future. I know people always say this on this website, but plot summaries are really not my strong point. I'm just thankful for people like her who are willing to help me with it!

Disclaimer: All I own is a head of very big, very frizzy hair. I wish I didn't.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Linda. Quit. Poking. Me."

"Then pass the chips; I've asked for them like thirty thousand billion times."

Gwen rolled her eyes at this gross exaggeration and tugged the crinkling bag out of Tony's limp grasp, spilling a few crumbs onto the blankets wrapped around her legs and midsection. He brushed them off absentmindedly, not taking his eyes away from the baring television screen before him.

"Now why are they singing?" he inquired of the girls, referring to the movie the three were watching.

"If you're only going to pay attention to the raunchy parts, then I'm not going to tell you," Linda announced through a large mouthful of potato product, before swallowing and digging through the container again, her lips ringed with oil.

Gwen snorted at this sight. She adored her friend, but eating with her was a disgusting trial that almost always caused her to lose her own appetite. Tony was usually quick to add a comment about this, such as "You have the table manners of a shark," but at the moment he was focusing on the film, frowning slightly.

"This makes no sense. I don't get it."

"They killed their husbands; what's not to get?"

"Why?"

"Cuz they wouldn't shut up when they were watching a movie with their wives!" Gwen turned to face the boy, their eyes both squinting irritably at each other before loosening up into their usual amiable gaze, laughing.

"You forgive me."

"Yeah, I do. Now be quiet."

He finally obeyed, but her command was broken by a loud, choking sound, supplied by a reddening Linda. Gwen sighed before reaching over and rubbing her friend's back as she coughed in an effort to help clear her throat.

The three were sleeping over at Tony's house, armed with a large collection of his mother's blankets and Linda's stock of DVDs. After a brief, extremely late dinner of microwave-ready dishes (the delay had been caused by an impromptu journey on foot to the grocery store for ice cream, most of which had been devoured on the trip back), they had set up in the den of the house, making sure that the door was firmly shut. The girls had devised a plan earlier to make Tony watch several of their favorite movies, most of which included singing, in an effort to convince him that musicals were not nearly as terrible as he had been tricked into believing by his two older brothers. So far their attempt was failing miserably, as the only time he actually took an interest was when his teenaged mind noticed something sexual occurring on-screen.

Although this reaction wasn't what they would have preferred, Linda and Gwen still thought it to be more than a little amusing.

It was the very beginning of summer, which marked the end of their time together for the next few months. During this season, Gwen would travel to Germany with her father to visit their cousins, and, unbeknownst to her relatives, the outcast of the family, Kurt Wagner. His circus always visited the town at that time, and other than their relationship through letters, it was the only contact they had with one another.

There were three problems with this, however. For one, she was separated from her friends. Of course, she was allowed to talk to them via phone, but Edward didn't appreciate the bills she was racking up, and the time she spent conversing was monitored closely as a result. Another, more important thing was the issue of Kurt's coworker, Christophe.

* * *

Gwen had met the man the year before, but thankfully the encounter lasted only for a brief moment. She had been in her uncle's trailer at the time, talking and joking with him as quietly as possible, for Stefan had returned from Paris and lay asleep on the bed on the other side. It had been a quiet, uneventful evening: no fights or arguments of any kind with Kurt's brother (he had been completely unconscious since she had arrived, having tucked himself beneath the blankets on his cot), and the only sound was their quiet laughter.

Even so, the pleasant atmosphere was interrupted by a heavy clunk from outside of the caravan that caused the structure to shake slightly. A muffled "oof" followed almost immediately.

"_Was_?" Kurt inquired, switching from English to German (they usually conversed in the former; Gwen was fluent in both languages thanks to her father, but her uncle insisted upon practicing in the foreign tongue) as he stood from the table and hurried to the door. She followed, slightly rattled. Truth be told, she was expecting some sort of violent madman – her exposure to Tony's horror films was not helping anyone – but as she recalled that evening, she supposed that had been exactly what she got.

Kurt had barely opened the door before a man came barreling inside, knocking the wooden panel to the side on its hinges. He just managed to avoid falling flat on the floor by grabbing onto Gwen's shoulder. She was wearing a tank top, and his cold, calloused hand against her bare skin was incredibly disconcerting. She shrugged him off, taking a step back as he straightened before turning to face her uncle.

"Christophe, what are you doing here?" he asked, looking a bit tired and confused, as if this wasn't the first late-night encounter. Gwen jumped slightly at this query, realizing who he was and suddenly feeling much more scared than she had been the moment before. He didn't appear to be much of a threat: he was short, even by her standards, and appeared to be as slender as her uncle. If it came down to it, she didn't doubt that the two relatives would be able to defend themselves. But despite this, the scent of beer was heavy, and Gwen knew it wasn't emanating from either her or Kurt. She'd had enough experience with her neighbors to know that a person underneath the influence of alcohol could be dangerous.

"He needs to-" she began, before being interrupted.

"-go home," Kurt finished for her, immediately attempting to guide the inebriated man toward the door. Christophe, however, had other ideas. He waved his hand around, indicating that he was to be left alone.

"None-" he hiccupped, before trying again. "None of that. Save for...flying...things."

This statement, had it not been slurred incomprehensibly, would still have not made any sense. Even so, he appeared to be thinking hard.

"Get paid for...that. Yes, paid for doing...flying stuff...you do, too." Again, he was entirely incoherent, but this time Gwen detected a slight accent, and placed his birthplace to be somewhere in Italy. "Not enough, though."

"Do you know where you are?" Kurt asked, gesturing in front of the man's face and garnering no response. He sighed as Christophe ignored his question, instead choosing to focus as best as he could on Gwen again.

"Who...girl person?"

"My niece. Stay here." The second order was directed towards her, as he grabbed the man's shoulders. "I'm going to – hey!"

Upon contact, Christophe had seized Kurt's hands and thrown them off, with much more force than required. "Not paid...for that," he muttered sourly.

"What's he talking about?" Gwen quietly asked her uncle, who shrugged slightly before attempting to lead the drunken man out of his trailer once more. This endeavor, though, was met with a response that still made her cringe in a mixture of horror and disgust whenever she thought about it.

Both of Tony's parents were of Italian descent, and were fluent in the language. However, their three sons had taken it upon themselves to learn as many curse words and insults as possible, and nothing else. Even so, their knowledge proved entertaining – nothing was more fun than to watch the three siblings tussle with each other while screaming these expletives at each other. Naturally, Gwen and Linda had picked them up quickly, allowing themselves to use them when talking to their ignorant peers, all in the name of fun.

That night, nevertheless, her familiarity with the tongue gave her much more heartache than amusement. The instant Kurt touched his intoxicated coworker again, Christophe spun on his heel to face him. In one fluid motion, he pulled his arm back and used the momentum to punch him squarely in the jaw. Her uncle fell to the floor, using his three-fingered hand to cradle his injury, gasping in pain. As he lay on the floor, struggling to pull himself upright, Christophe leaned over him and spat out a single word in Italian; one Gwen had heard several times back in Boston. She felt her eyebrows pop up in surprise as she inhaled noisily, a sure sign of an oncoming asthma attack. Out of habit, she patted her pocket and brought out her inhaler.

By the time she had regained her composure, Kurt had managed to stand up, still holding his jawbone and breathing hard: not from anger, but agony. His fanged teeth were grinding together as he finally spoke.

"Please leave, Christophe," he mumbled, glancing over at his still-sleeping brother worriedly. Stefan, thankfully, had slept through this disturbance. Gwen was in no mood to deal with his passive defense in this situation.

Christophe, rather than follow Kurt's muffled instruction, simply stood in front of him, apparently trying to appear as defiant as possible while wavering from his inebriation.

Gwen, who was already angry from what the man had done to her uncle, had had enough of his presence. If Kurt was refusing to use force to make him leave, she'd do it herself. She was too short to reach anywhere higher than his chest if she punched him, so, on impulse, she glanced down at his bare leg and kicked him as hard as possible in his shin.

The effect was immediate. He swore (again in his native language), grabbing his wounded limb and hopping about in pain. Gwen took this moment to run behind him, open the door, and speak to him.

"Get out!" she told him in a frantic whisper, glancing over at Stefan again. "Or else...or else...just leave."

Christophe glared down at her, his light brown eyes clouded with drunken malice.

"Fine," he said at last, the letters blending together. Limping, he stumbled outside and down the steps, and it was with relief that Gwen was able to close the door. Quickly, she moved to the window, watching the offender stagger off into the darkness. When she was certain that she and her uncle were once again safe, she turned around.

Kurt was still rubbing his cheek, but his golden eyes were upon Gwen. "What?" she asked brusquely, walking over to the kitchen and digging through cabinets. He followed her.

"That didn't help either of us," he said.

"Oh, and just standing there did?" She pointed to his face before returning to cupboard. "I can't believe you stood there and took that. I saw your face; you knew what he said to you."

"So did you."

Gwen had found what she was looking for: a bottle of antiseptic she had seen while searching for food at other times. She set it down on the table before facing Kurt again.

"Well, maybe I don't feel like watching someone beat up my uncle. Sorry if you don't have any problem with it, though."

She regretted the last statement the second it came out of her mouth, suddenly remembering a much younger Kurt crying in a bathtub, thinking he was going to die...

The adult Kurt had sat down at the table, looking bitter and frustrated.

"Oh, god. I'm sorry. I didn't - I mean...sorry. Just - sorry." She grabbed a washcloth from the counter and brought it over to her uncle, unscrewing the top of the bottle and dousing the rag. "Look, move your hand."

Kurt's face was level with hers when sitting, and he glowered at her before sighing resignedly and lowering his arm. There was a tiny cut along his jawbone, startlingly red against his dark blue skin. It didn't require much attention, but Gwen dabbed the cloth on it anyway. She realized that he must have bitten his tongue when Christophe had punched him, for there was a thin dribble of blood on the corner of his mouth. Wincing, she used her thumb to wipe it away.

"I don't want anyone to hurt you, that's all," she muttered. Kurt's features softened a bit.

"Gwen," he began.

"Right." Her voice was louder, masking the tears beginning to prick her eyes. Then, using her telepathy, she reached out to his mind with her own, trying to encompass his shaken spirit with her own. It couldn't provide relief, but she prayed that he would take comfort in the fact that they were both suffering from turbulent emotions. It seemed to work, for after a moment passed, he stretched out to squeeze her free hand.

"Don't tell anyone," he whispered. "They don't need to know."

"I won't," she promised in a shaky murmur, knowing she'd regret her words later on.

At the moment, it didn't seem to matter.

* * *

"Well," Tony announced as he twisted onto his back, hampered by the blankets surrounding his body, "Linda Fraser has the honor of being the first to fall asleep tonight."

"One of us had to. What time is it?" Gwen yawned loudly.

Tony glanced at his watch. "You don't want to know. Let's just say we're going to be able to see the glorious Boston sunrise – or at least the buildings and smog...which are pretty in their own special way." In the harsh white light of the television screen, she saw his mouth quirk slightly, and laughed.

They were watching _Moulin Rouge_ when Linda, euphoric from the high levels of sugar in her body and her near-death experience with the potato chips a few hours before, had decided to dance uncontrollably on the sofa for a rather long period of time before collapsing onto the fall and becoming silent. A few more moments passed before Gwen and Tony chose to check on her, but there was nothing to worry about: her mind had simply succumbed to exhaustion, and rightfully so, as it was extremely late – actually, early.

Gwen's body ached with fatigue, and she longed to rest her head on the floor and sleep, but there was a harrying thought whispering in the back of her mind that prevented her from fulfilling this wish. She felt more than a little guilty when she finally determined what the soft voice was saying, although an idea had been cultivating over the past few months. In a way, she was almost glad that Linda was unconscious, for that meant Gwen would be alone with Tony.

These feelings were new for her; but she had been toying with the thought that they had grown only because it was the first contact she'd ever had with a male she wasn't related to. Pure wonder; that was it.

But no matter how she tried to quash this emotion, she found herself studying his face more and more, taking in every detail from his widow's peak to the squint of his blue eyes behind his thick glasses. Watching him grin while he made a joke or stretching his arms during school had become something of a sport for her, and this caused her anxiety.

It was the first time Gwen had ever considered using her telepathic abilities on either of her friends. Whenever the three of them were together, she had to restrain herself from attempting to see if there was more to the smile Tony would give her once in a while or the manner in which his lanky body brushed against hers in the elevator to her apartment building. She'd always been scared of what she'd find if she did so, either to him or anyone else around her, and so her mutation was left to collect dust during the winter months.

So that night, Gwen turned away from the sight of the boy supporting himself on the elbow of his right hand – the side facing her, she noted, almost opening her telepathic window for the thousandth time – and instead focused on the movie before her. She had always loved the particular scene being shown. The song being sung was lovely, and had always filled her with the kind of elation that inspired her to serenade her shower curtains with wild abandon.

Gwen giggled at her own joke, momentarily distracted from Tony, and wriggled out of her blankets, energized slightly. Her fleeting ignorance was soon destroyed, however, when the boy spoke.

"What's so funny?" he asked. She was still concentrating on the song, but had turned to face the inquirer, and all of her attention was suddenly directed towards him.

"Nothing," she told him, returning his tired beam and struggling to ignore the jocular, muted crinkle around his eyes as the song reached an intense note. "I love this part, that's all." Her grin widened. "And how do you like it, Tony?"

"I like it fine. The duke's kind of a moron, though."

"Yep. It wouldn't be much of a story if he wasn't."

He considered this for a second. "That's a _really_ stupid plot device."

"No, it's not!" She reached for a cushion behind her head and threw it at him, laughing. He raised his arms in an effort to protect his head, falling on his back in the process.

"Yes, it is. Admit it, Gwen Wagner."

"Never." She climbed even further out of her cocoon of blankets, crawling over to him with the pillow in her hand. Using this, she proceeded to smack him even further as he struggled to fight back, both of them muffling their mirth so as not to wake Linda.

It was the exact sort of moment that would make anyone feel so alive that their natural prohibitions would be drowned in a stream of adrenaline and joy, and Gwen was no exception. She had no idea how it had happened. One moment she was simply playing with Tony, perhaps a little roughly.

The next, her face bowed over his. Quickly, clumsily, inexperienced, and with far more daring than she had ever imagined was in her possession, Gwen kissed him.


	14. Melancholia

A/N: Oh gosh, sorry this took so long. Writer's block...school trip...bloody website. Grr. Enjoy.

Err...if you don't get it, regular font is the present, italics are the flashback type things.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Kurt sank onto the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress with his three-fingered hands as he did so, feeling unstable and shaky. It was as if something had barreled into his stomach with all the force of a battering ram, knocking the air from his lungs in the process. His heart, if possible, was in an even worse condition, pounding wildly as if it were being drowned. However, it was the ache in his eyes that he was concentrating on, the hot, throbbing pain that only increased as a few ragged tears slipped out onto his cheeks.

It was hard to think that only the prior night he had been talking quietly with Stefan, his arm wound around Amanda's waist as they sat in his caravan. Now he was in the house of his biological cousins, in his niece's room just before the break of dawn, waiting for her to return with a pair of scissors. The sheer bizarreness of it all was much more than he thought he could bear.

And yet, there he was, with another man's blood on his shirt, in such a dreadfully lachrymose state that had he been asked to speak, he doubted he would be able to fulfill this request. All he was capable of at the moment was inhaling and exhaling shuddering breaths, and trying, to no avail, to forget everything that had occurred in the previous hours. Amanda's furious screams, Margali's excruciating sobbing, and the sight of Stefan's oddly bent neck played on a continuous loop through his head.

Who knew that it only took one argument to change his entire life?

Grunting slightly, Kurt lifted his hands to his face and swiped the tears away. It was pointless, though, for they reappeared as quickly as they had departed – his only company, at that point in time and what would most likely be the rest of his existence.

He wanted Gwen to be there with him, even if it was just her mere presence. That in itself was another thing for him to feel guilty about. She'd have a lot of trouble explaining why most of her hair was missing in the morning, when she faced her father – his brother – and their cousins.

However much he believed that he didn't deserve it, though, his wish was granted a moment later. The girl suddenly emerged from the darkness of the hallway, on tiptoe as she slowly and silently shut the door to her room. In the dim light of the instant before sunrise, he caught a glint of metal in her closed hand.

"Here," she whispered, pressing the source of the shine – metallic scissors - into his outstretched hand. Her face was more grim and serious than he had ever seen, as she raked her fingers through her remaining hair. It had been cut off at a sloping angle, so that one side was up to her neck, and the other fell just above her hip. As terrible as he felt about this, she seemed more preoccupied with him, as she pulled the edge of her sleeve over the palm of her hand and began blotting the area beneath his eyes. He didn't have the energy to wipe them away himself, or to even be embarrassed. Instead, he motioned for her to turn about, so that her back faced him. Then, with arms that felt like lead, he began to snip away yet another heartbreak in his life.

_"An American man came and watched us for a while a few weeks ago. He left me with a job opportunity in the United States, but I highly doubt I'll take it." Kurt grinned, and Gwen felt as though he were enjoying a private joke. "Although it may provide me a chance to meet this Tony boy..." Upon this statement, his happy beam turned into a true smirk._

_"I don't know why I did it," Gwen muttered, holding her head in her hands. As she peeked through her fingers, she saw Kurt smiling slightly as he toyed with a bandage on his arm. "What's so funny?"_

_"Oh...nothing." His grin widened even further, and she caught a glimpse of his fanged teeth in the darkened light of the kerosene. "Just...nothing."_

_"Whatever."_

_"So he was talking about pulling an all-nighter?"_

_"Uh-huh," she moaned, burying her face in her arms._

_"And you decided, I like him!"_

_"Pretty much."_

_"That's very cute."_

_"Oh, shut - be quiet."_

_Kurt was now chuckling, as he reached over and patted her shoulder. "Come on, it can't be that bad. What did he say afterwards?"_

_Gwen squinted, trying to recall exactly what Tony had said and how he had said it. "'Yep...pretty buildings.'"_

_He was laughing uncontrollably now, his head thrown back. "Stop joking...oh, you're not?" Noticing her infuriated glower, he straightened and sobered up. "Sorry."_

_"You should be. After that, we watched the rest of the movie. He fell asleep first. I didn't sleep at all." She scowled. "And we didn't talk very much the next morning. He said, 'Goodbye, see you in September,' and that was it."_

_"Perhaps he was tired."_

_"Or perhaps it was really, really awkward and he had no clue what to say. Like me."_

_"You're talking now."_

_"So what?" Gwen heaved an impressive, somewhat dreamy sigh, resting her chin on her hand. "You know...I really like his glasses."_

_"Oh, liebe, welcome to love."_

"Kurt, you're pulling too hard."

He whimpered softly in response, lessening the force of his grip on her destroyed hair. Gwen relaxed her shoulders in relief.

"Thanks," she whispered, remaining as still as a picture. "You need to do it quickly – I think I'm just gonna tell them that I did it myself."

Kurt took a shuddering breath, and finally uttered the first word of the rest of his life.

"Why?"

_As Gwen ran, the dust kicked up around her flip-flops. It took an incredible amount of restraint to keep them on her feet, involving the curling of her toes around the edges of the shoes. However, the dry weather had dehydrated everything, including the ground she was dashing on, which made it much easier to move. Thank God for any small favors she was granted that night._

_It had begun as normally as any other – she had darted out of her bedroom window with effortlessness, due to her habit, scuttled down the tree, and walked quickly to the area where Kurt's circus set up during the summer. There, she planned to talk with him, perhaps commiserate more about teenaged infatuation (something they had been doing quite a bit, ever since that stupid, clumsy, momentous kiss). It was normal, and it was their ritual. Even if Amanda, Stefan, or Margali were present, she felt comfortable enough with his family that she could share any information with them, devoid of any sort of shame._

_When Gwen had arrived at her uncle's caravan, however, two people out of the four in the family were seated around his table, arguing heatedly. She hadn't appeared early enough to determine exactly what the subject was, but she had an idea of whom it was about. Only Amanda and Margali were there. Kurt and Stefan were not._

_His brother, her uncle had written in a recent letter when she was back in Boston, had been quite upset lately, although no one was certain of the cause. For a generally serene man, he could be extremely volatile, especially when it came to something he felt passionate about. Usually he revealed the subject willingly, but this time, he had withdrawn further and further into himself. In fact, his family suspected that the basis of his current retreat from the monastery was because of this introversion._

_The pair of women at the table were gesticulating fervently at each other as they whispered heatedly, so as not to disturb the sleeping population surrounding them. This was easy for Gwen to determine as she approached the window, innocently hoping to scare her uncle as she had once before. The sight of an argument greeted her instead. Had Kurt been there, she would have barged in despite whatever was occurring inside, but he wasn't. Rather, she knocked politely – or at least as politely as she was capable of in her confusion. This was accompanied by her hurried shout of "Hey, Amanda!"_

_The door opened almost as soon as she announced her appearance, and she was met with a frazzled Margali. Her grayed hair, usually swept up into a sleek, somewhat severe bun hung around her shoulders in thick, tangled waves – had it been a blondish red and thoroughly brushed, it would have definitely been similar to Amanda's own locks. This clearly was not the time to mention it to the older woman though._

_Kurt's foster mother, in place of the usual small, kind smile she gave the girl, sighed loudly and pulled her inside, with perhaps a bit more roughness than required. Her daughter had turned in her chair to face the two other females, her pretty blue eyes clouded with concern._

_"Mom-" she began, looking up at Margali anxiously, but she was cut off._

_"You need to leave." This statement was directed at Gwen, as her shoulders were gripped and twisted so that she was in front of the woman, who was bent slightly at her knees. The worry lines etched into her forehead were more prominent at the moment, and any trace of affability she may have had before was completely gone. "Now, child. Stefan, he..." Her typically clear, powerful voice suddenly trailed off into nothing, and she hung her head so as not to meet the girl's face._

_"He's not well," Amanda interjected, standing up and pacing towards the window, peering out fretfully. "In...his mind. You need to go home, Gwen. Please. How far away do you live?"_

_"Five minutes, if I run. What's happening? Where's Kurt?"_

_Amanda rubbed her temples, attempting to care for a visible migraine. "Stefan left a couple of hours ago, and Kurt left to go find him. Gwen...I think he had a knife with him. Please, go home."_

_"Why, Amanda?" Despite the obvious desperation and bewilderment in her voice, her ears acknowledged no answer. In the wake of this silence, she turned back to Margali. "What's happened?"_

As the tight, corkscrew curls fell onto the blanket covering the space of the mattress between Kurt and Gwen, the girl sighed uncomfortably and squirmed the slightest amount. He couldn't blame her whatsoever; he'd spent enough time with Amanda to know that, no matter how little attention she'd paid to it as a child, hair was important to most teenaged females. It seemed quite irrational to him, but he was sufficiently compassionate to understand how great a loss this must be to his niece. His theories on the matter were confirmed a moment later, when she finally waved away the hand with the scissors in his awkward grip and swiveled her entire body around to face him.

"This sucks," she muttered harshly, hoisting one of the discarded locks at her folded legs and studying it dejectedly. Then, with a melancholy glance at his expression, she dropped the piece of hair. "It all...really sucks. Look, Kurt. I don't – I don't know what to say, exactly."

He nodded, urging her as much as he was equipped to continue speaking. Anything was better than the silence mingled with the tearing of her locks between the sharpened metal.

"I guess...Stefan...I'm really sorry you lost him."

Kurt let a near-soundless sob escape from his lips then, a hot puff of air carrying the tiniest quantity of his woe into the outside world. How many times had he heard that crying was part of the grieving process? Perhaps the tears and the anguished exhalations that accompanied them were just parts of the sorrow being released from the body, relieving the intense weight of grief at the same time.

"I've – I've never said this to you before, but I think it's as close as I'll ever get. I'm not good at it." She twiddled her thumbs together, picked at a piece of nail polish on one of her fingers. "What you're feeling now, about your brother – I think it's exactly the same way I'd feel if-" her voice was cracking noticeably now – "if you ever-"

Kurt shook his head emphatically, using his body to ask her not to say the dooming words. Then, under the surge of a new wave of misery, he reached out his arms and gathered Gwen into a broken embrace, water dripping silently from his amber eyes onto her newly cropped mane.

"Me too," he whispered.

_Gwen was panting slightly, a normal side effect to her usual course taken from her cousins' house to her uncle's circus and vice versa. At the moment, she was hurrying in the latter direction, Amanda and Margali's warning still burning in her ears. She had been frightened plenty of times before, but never seriously. This time, it was tangible, it was real, and she might be in danger. This was nothing like the scary movies Tony had shown her. There were no masked men wielding buzzing chainsaws, or grotesquely deformed asylum patients with portable torture devices – it was a man she knew well, or at least, a man she thought she had known well._

_Apparently no one had detected how far into himself Stefan had gone, how greatly acquainted he had become with his own unimaginable dark side. It was too late now, however. He had left Kurt's caravan screaming incoherently, although her uncle had reported detecting the words "demons" and "children" a few times. He had also given testimony to the large pocketknife his brother had insisted on taking with him._

_Amanda and Margali, when Gwen had arrived at the trailer, had debated for a moment or two after explaining the circumstances to the girl who should escort her back to her house – if their relative truly was a threat, she definitely should not be alone. But while they had been deliberating over the subject, panic had seized her. Quietly, she slipped out of the door unnoticed, and began her mad rush back home._

_Gwen was about halfway there, and that in itself allowed her the slightest relief. Stefan had never before seemed like a threat, but even his sister and mother appeared terrified at the moment. She could only assume that he had given them true reason to do so, and that propelled her even more quickly across the road. At the house, she could take a shower – nobody would be awake to ask her why she did so – bedizen herself with her favorite nightclothes (a baggy gown decorated with dancing cartoon poodles, an early birthday gift from Linda), and fall into a sweet dreamless sleep._

_It was a nice thought, but the sharp gulps of air entering her lungs reminded her that she was not safe. Maybe her fear stemmed from nothing, but the only bane of her fear would be the warmth of her bed. Slowing down, she patted her pocket for her inhaler, before remembering that she had left it on the table in her room by accident. Groaning, she came to a complete stop, in an effort to regain her breath. It would not do to have an asthma attack that night, not when she very well might be running for her life. She stood in the middle of the street, hands on her knees, timing her inhalations for the greatest accuracy of lung regulation possible._

_Just as her panting returned to normal, though, her scalp suddenly exploded in pain. Someone had snuck up behind her, seized her hair and was now yanking her upright. Try as she may to resist it, she was soon completely vertical. Gwen was unable to twist her head about to see who her attacker was due to the agony, but she had a good idea who it was._

_As the tip of a knife began to poke at her neck ominously, but not enough to inflict any damage, she managed to gasp, "Stefan."_

"We should finish," Gwen whispered solemnly, using her index finger to swipe away the tears forming in her eyes before extricating herself from her uncle's limbs. The scissors lay next to the discarded locks on the mattress, and she picked them up, offering them out to Kurt. Sniffling faintly, he relieved her of the object and motioned for her to turn around yet again. She figured that her hair had to be about even, although a few touch ups were clearly needed.

It was an odd feeling, to not be able to sense the weight of her long curls on her back anymore. Could she do so, had the second sharp item of the night not been pointed at her head, she would have swished her new hair about in an attempt to grow more accustomed to it.

It had been there so recently, but instantaneously it was gone forever. How bizarre.

_"Let go of me," she moaned desperately, trying to twist out of the man's powerful grip. "Please, Stefan."_

_"I can't," he replied, digging the tip of the knife in further – not yet breaking skin, but obviously willing to do so. "Have you heard them?"_

_"Please let go," Gwen asked more loudly, endeavoring to hit him in his stomach with her pointed elbows, but failing._

_"They've been here too long...demons, posing as children. How am I to be sure that you're not one of them?" This inquiry came out in a low growl, completely different to his usual voice. It was as if another entity had taken over her uncle's brother, and perhaps one not human at all. Judging by the pain emanating from her head, Gwen would not have been surprised if she found out he had been inhabited an alien force._

_"I'm not, I prom-_ Christ,_ Stefan, that hurts." As soon as this came out of her mouth, she regretted it. Such a deeply religious man may have been further angered by that minor blaspheme._

_This was proven when he pulled her closer, so that his mouth was right beside her ear. "The world need not worry," he told her in the softest, most dangerous whisper, one she would not have been able to hear had he been farther away. "I'm taking care of it."_

_"Of what?" she asked, the whimpering tone in her voice increasing exponentially with her words._

_"The demons," he said proudly, straightening once more and lessening his grip on the knife at her neck, something the girl was grateful for. However, her hope for freedom was suddenly dashed, when the tip returned to its previous pressure and he stiffened. "Who's there?" he called out abruptly. She sensed his head swiveling about, trying to detect another person from the darkness of the night air. It appeared as though no one was with them, though, for there was no reply, and there came no aid._

_She gulped, all her senses focusing on her attacker – his scent (dry wood), his heat, the strain of his weapon against her skin..._

_It was all over in an instant._

"Done," Kurt whispered. He set the scissors down on the bed yet again, for good this time.

There had been someone there, someone with skin so dark it had been impossible for his own brother to tell that he was nearby. Gwen immediately recognized him by the tone of his grunt, created when he tackled Stefan from the side.

The knife slid as the pair of men hit the ground, tearing her ponytail away between the holder and her assailant's fist. The terrifying sound barely registered in the girl's brain as she tumbled to the dusty road, a mixture of fear and relief fogging in her throat and head.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom and see what it looks like," Gwen replied, sounding as excited as she could muster in the situation. She naturally seemed petrified, but Kurt admired her for her obvious feelings of anticipation, how she could look to the future already.

_Gwen awoke to the sensation of being carried by someone much stronger than she. Opening her eyes, she identified Kurt's face above hers. Judging by his pace, they were walking slowly. After further investigation of her surroundings, she judged that they were moving back towards her house._

_"Huhn?" she moaned, sitting up as far as she was able before collapsing again. "Wha?"_

_"You passed out," Kurt told her, and she noted with displeasure that she had to lean in closer to hear. "For – a while. A lot's happened, liebe. Oh, Gott in Himmel-"_

_She would forever remember the moment as the first time she saw the man cry._

Kurt, in search of something productive to do, swept the ownerless hair into a pile on the sheets, taking care not to leave a single strand. Gwen would return in a moment with the final verdict on her new hairstyle, something he both looked forward to and apprehended. For a man so disabled in a world full of tools meant for five-fingered people, he felt he had done quite well. It would undoubtedly be the first thing he'd feel anything optimistic towards for a very long time.

_"His head – crashed on a rock when I was trying to get the knife away." He took a shuddering breath, before continuing. "I carried the body back to the circus. Margali...Amanda, she told me...she said she never wanted to see me again." Bowing his head even further, he continued. "So I grabbed you and took you back."_

_"Stay with me tonight," she commanded. "Please. You can stay under the bed when anyone walks by my room, and-"_

_It was clear by his expression that it would take no persuading to convince the man to throw caution to the wind and remain with her. He didn't want to be alone at all, and there was no way she could blame him. She was in great need of company herself._

Gwen reentered the room on tiptoe, as quietly as she had before. Then, by the light of the dawn shining through the window, Kurt detected a smile on her features – a genuine, happy smile.

"I like it," she murmured, fingering the ends of her hair gently as she grinned tearily. "I like it a _lot_."


	15. Osculation

Er...sorry for such a long update...I've been extremely busy. As in, superhumanly busy. I apologize, I really do. If it makes you feel better, this is the longest chapter I've written. I hope you enjoy it.

Rated for mild language.

**Chapter Fifteen**

Gwen swiped away the residue of sweat and grime on her forehead with her wristband, relieved that the burning in her lungs had finally passed. At least her asthma hadn't chosen that precise moment to act up, for it surely would have hindered her actions. Although she doubted that there would be many triggers in the gymnasium, she had been inconvenienced once or twice in prior practices. Still, as long as the attacks did not repeat themselves, she was free to whatever she pleased.

It so happened that the activity of her choice that day had been participating in the state track championship, along with her fellow teammates. It had taken place at a nearby academy in Boston, where schools from all over Massachusetts had met to race one another. Her group had done particularly well while competing, especially in the relays. However, she was most proud of her achievement in the sprints. During that event, she had come in second to a gangly redhead. Given that the girl's long legs provided her with the advantage, Gwen felt that she had made up for it quite well. They had been separated by mere inches at the end.

This feat had been commemorated when she had received a silver medal, which she now wore around her neck. Perhaps it was slightly ostentatious, for she had changed out of her jersey and track shorts while in the locker room she was now exiting, but after months of practice and training, she felt as though she deserved to be a little flamboyant about it. It was undeniably noticeable, for it clashed horribly with her dark blue shirt and black jeans. Nevertheless, she paused briefly to wipe a grubby thumbprint off the badge with the fabric of her top with pride.

She was alone in the hallway outside of the changing area, with only a case of trophies and plaques to keep her company. It was still early at night, but because it was midwinter, the light cast through the windows in the walls was the same shade as her shirt. The effect this illumination was entirely eerie, and Gwen wanted nothing more than to reenter the arena, where Tony, Linda, Linda's sister, and Sigfried were waiting. There was no one else present, for she had taken a long period to celebrate with them after being presented with the medal, and even longer showering. Anyone who had been at the meet that day had undoubtedly left by that time.

She experienced some guilty emotions, but reasoned that her company had talked just as much as she had. In addition to that, she figured that her lavage had benefited them as well: after hours of running about and sweating profusely, Gwen knew that her scent could only be unpleasant. The only person who might really be exasperated by the amount of time that had passed would be Linda's big sister, Judy.

The elder girl, after having been caught enjoying a cigarette by her mother, had been sentenced to do the bidding of her parents for the next three weeks without time for her own social life. Naturally, the seventeen-year-old was in a rather dejected, temperamental condition. After she had been forced to chaperone her younger sibling and her friends when the meet ended, almost anything was able to tick her off.

Gwen supposed that Judy was currently fuming in response to her tardiness, but she was too excited about the upcoming evening to really care. When her father had ensured that the children were situated, he would return home, leaving the four teenagers to their own devices. They wouldn't get themselves into any trouble, for Linda was something of the stereotypical good child – apart from swearing profusely and not mentioning Gwen and Kurt's correspondence, she was usually the voice of reason within the group. It was quite impossible for anyone to break the rules if she argued against it, so persuasive was she.

Instead, they would have dinner at a pizza joint near the siblings' house, after which Judy would drive the other children home, much to her disgruntlement. If they were feeling wild, Linda might convince them to spend ten dollars in quarters at the arcade in the restaurant. As dull as this seemed to some of their peers, the three kids were happy enough to wile the hours away playing jejune video games.

Pushing her sleeve aside to check her watch, she walked out of the hallway back into the gym. Inside, her party sat upon the metal bleachers against the wall. Tony was talking animatedly with Sigfried – undoubtedly, the conversation was about the current state of the government, their favorite topic. Linda sat beside her sister, leaning over Judy's book only to be pushed away irritably every now and then. It was rather odd to see the girl with a novel, for she usually spent a good amount of time sending text messages on her phone to her friends. Gwen assumed that the removal of the cell had been part of her punishment.

She sped up slightly as she reached them, not wanting to delay the festivities any longer. As they heard her shoes flap against the floor, Sigfried and Tony look up expectantly. Judy shoved Linda off of her seat in annoyance, causing her to scream "oof" rather loudly as she hit the ground. In retaliation, the younger woman grabbed her sister's ankle and dug her long, lime-green painted nails into the flesh.

Shrieking in agony, Judy jumped up from the bleachers and smacked Linda over the head with her book, producing a heavy thump. Gwen winced as her friend cursed stridently, noticing that her father was frowning slightly at the girl's antics.

"Christ, you _bitch_-" Linda growled, her features stricken with pain.

"Miss Fraser," Sigfried interjected disapprovingly. Moaning, she turned to face him.

"Sorry, Mr. S." Glaring one last time at her sibling, Linda swiped the dust of the gymnasium floor from the seat of her trench coat before tying the sash around the waist of her magenta leotard. Her expression was still screwed up in distress, but the spat seemed to have been resolved to the best of Sigfried's abilities.

As interesting as the quarrel had been to watch, however, Gwen's eyes went to Tony immediately after. The boy now stood just behind her father, but she could see him shyly observing her. Giving him a small, equally bashful smile, she strode over to Sigfried.

"Okay, I've got everything," she told him, gripping her medal meaningfully. "We'll be back at ten-thirty at the latest."

"All right," he replied, studying Judy once more. "Are you sure that you want her to drive you home? I'll be happy to pick you up-"

"She's fine, Dad. Don't worry." This rejoinder was much quieter, so that the older female would not hear the others talking about her. "Go home and...I don't know, watch TV or something. I'll see you later." With this farewell, she reached up to his face on tiptoe to kiss his whiskery cheek.

"All right, liebe. Have fun, ja?"

With that, Sigfried left the gymnasium hurriedly, glancing at his watch. Gwen could only imagine what television shows he was worrying he had missed during the excitement. For someone who read as much as him, he enjoyed a good amount of incredibly idiotic programs.

Watching the older man leave through the door onto the street, she turned to face the remainder of the crowd. Judy and Linda were still glowering at one another, and Tony looked a bit bewildered at their hostility.

"So..." he began, before trailing off lamely.

"We should go," Gwen cut in, pointing to the exit that led out to the parking lot where the Frasers' car waited. Judy shrugged apathetically.

"She's not sitting up front," she muttered, gesturing at Linda, who grew increasingly more irritated.

"I am so! I called shotgun!" she started, looking completely ready to defend her case. Suddenly, however, her features were darkened by fear. "Oh, hell," she muttered.

"What?" Gwen asked, swiveling about to face the area her friend was focused on. Linda grabbed her arm before she could finish the revolution.

"Don't look!" she ordered in a frightened whisper. "It's just...there's a guy by the bleachers on the other side of the place. He looks kinda shady... I think he's watching us."

Her heart slammed abruptly, for she was now as scared as the other girl. Tony, who had heard the murmurs, was now attempting to peer surreptitiously at the offender through the copious amount of hair surrounding his face. Even Judy seemed alarmed, not bothering to hide the fact that she was staring at the other occupant of the building. Figuring that the damage was done, Gwen rotated slowly about.

There was indeed somebody standing at the opposite wall. Given that the volume of the gymnasium was impressive, the two parties were a good distance apart. However, it was easy to see that the person was wearing a wide-brimmed hat, pulled down so that his face was completely obscured. He wore a lengthy coat in a dark, muted khaki, with a hem elongated enough to graze the bottoms of his knees – remarkable, for the man was quite tall himself. His hands were dug deep into his pockets, and Gwen shuddered to think what sort of weapons could be concealed in those compartments. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but his clothing, posture, and overall appearance made him seem dangerous.

He leaned his shoulders against the concrete partition, with his feet, legs and hips splayed inches away from his upper body. This pose, combined with the arrangement of his hat, made him look as though he were sleeping. But sheer logic said that there was no reason for him to be unconscious. He was clearly gazing at the four teenagers.

"_Shit_." Gwen was barely able to mutter this audibly, for she was trying her utmost not to make any sudden, loud noises. "Let's just leave; he probably won't follow us."

"All right," Judy said, with a startling clarity to her voice – she usually mumbled exhaustedly when she spoke. "Door closest to us - that's it-" Ushering them over, she glanced hurriedly at the man before shoving Gwen in the back with unnecessary vigor. "Move."

Linda pushed the exit open with a huge clang, as the knob on the other side made contact with the perpendicular wall. This racket prompted Judy to curse loudly.

"You idiot," she jeered angrily, obviously preparing to go into a full-blown fit the moment they were all outside and entirely safe. But as they proceeded to move forward, the older girl's irritated hissing was suddenly interrupted by a call behind them.

"Wait," it cried, but as Gwen endeavored to turn around, Judy grabbed her arm.

"Keep moving. Ignore it," she ordered, and the younger female obliged. Nevertheless, the shouts persisted.

"Wait. Wait! Gwen, _wait_!"

At the mention of her name, Gwen whirled in the opposite direction, her pulse quickening.

The voice belonged to the enigmatic man, who had somehow managed to traverse the entire gymnasium in only a few seconds of time. He now stood only a few yards away from them, with the brim of his hat still shrouding his face. His imposing stature was not at all familiar to her, nor did she know anyone who would feel the need to disguise himself. Unless...

With a jolt, Gwen realized that she had never seen her uncle in public before - his appearance in the circus that fateful day was the only exception. Otherwise, he had stayed in his trailer with his family. Indeed, the farthest she had seen him out of his home was on a dark street in the middle of the night, where he blended into the shadows perfectly. As she recalled these facts, she felt that the man's tone was reminiscent of Kurt's pitch.

A new surge of bravery rushing through her rapidly, she dashed past a panicky Judy and marched up to the building's interloper. When she reached him, she stretched out her arm (recognizing that she was too short to quite make it, she stood on tiptoes) and ripped the hat off of his head.

This action exposed Kurt's grinning face, his long, unkempt hair tousled and his golden eyes lit with mirth. Now that his facade had been exposed, he was free to draw his three-fingered hand from his pocket and wave at his niece.

"Kurt, you scared us! God, what was with all of – stop waving at me!"

"Hi, Gwen!"

"You're so...ugh...hi, Kurt."

His smile now grew into a refulgent beam, but as Gwen turned around again to face her friends, she noticed that Judy's expression was the exact opposite of the grown man's. Even Linda and Tony, who had been informed years ago of her uncle's unorthodox exterior, seemed a bit shocked. To her credit, the former's eyes reflected Kurt's jollity, even if it was to a lesser extent. The latter, although his mouth had dropped open slightly at first, recovered almost an instant later, shrugging and giving the other male a casual salute.

In less than three seconds' time, only Judy was reacting negatively to Kurt's odd combination of features. He clearly noticed this, as his yellow orbs swept over her face, his grin fading simultaneously.

"Er...perhaps you shouldn't have..._revealed_ me so abruptly," he muttered, so only his niece could hear him. Much as it pained her, she had to concur. She was so used to everything about him – not only his outer mutation, but also his affinity for dramatics when he was in a good mood. Trying to scare her and her friends may have been fun for him moments before, but Gwen sensed through her own evolutionary vicissitude that he knew what a bad idea it had been.

Kurt had only been in United States a few months, having left just days after the events that had transpired in the time following Stefan's death. The morning after he had cut her hair into its current bob, he managed to garner only a few hours of sleep before escaping through her window for fear of being found out by his additional relatives. Although he had said nothing to her about the subject, Gwen believed that he had resorted to living covertly on the streets for a week or two. Later, he sent her a letter to her home in Boston, telling her that he had accepted a position in the American circus that had approached him earlier and adding that he was writing the missive on a plane above the Atlantic.

Since then, he had been extremely busy, able to write just once a month, occasionally twice. However, Gwen was certain he had never mentioned that he would be in her hometown. She had definitely told him about the upcoming track meet, though, which had probably prompted him to plan this surprise arrival.

Even though this unforeseen occurrence would have been amazing had the girl been by herself at the time, she felt herself awkwardly wishing he had given her some warning. At the very least she could have prepared Judy, who had no idea whatsoever who he was.

"Judy," she began, gesturing at the man courteously, "This is my uncle, Kurt. He...he's my dad's brother, but...um...maybe we should go find somewhere to sit. I think we all need to...talk."

Judy, still gawping like a drowning fish as she stared at poor Kurt, nodded absentmindedly. "Okay," she replied.

* * *

It was an unusually slow night at the pizza restaurant, Angie decided as she studied her reflection in an empty metal tray, hoping that her hair would be able to remain in its perfectly mussed-up state for the next hour. Afterwards, her shift would end, and she could finally go home subsequent to a long afternoon – the fact that her extremely attractive neighbor Lucas would be arriving home from college at the same time as she may have also contributed to her eagerness. 

Her mind already working on how she would find a way to touch his arm outside of their apartments (either after a commiseration over their trying days, or at one of his jokes), she thought about her purse, and the lipgloss inside. If business continued to progress this slowly, maybe she could convince the manager Harry, who was preparing dough for the following day in the kitchen, to let her depart a little earlier than usual. Then, she would have time to step into the bathroom, run her fingers through her dirty blonde hair, and apply a bit more makeup.

Sighing dreamily, Angie set the metal tray back down on the counter and rested her pointed chin in her hands. The place wasn't exactly a bustling area of commerce, but it did attract its fair share of customers towards the later hours. Tonight, however, was clearly an exception. The only patrons in the last thirty minutes had been a pair of heavily tattooed motorists, sporting thick beards, leather garments that served to accentuate parts of their body she really would have rather not seen, and shaven heads. They had ordered a large pepper, onion, and pineapple pizza (Angie had had to force herself not to gag as she was preparing their order). Then they retreated into one of the booths in front of the large windows at the entrance, looking out onto the street. She had not seen them since, although occasionally she did hear cries of "Damn nice!" or "Hella fine!"

She neither knew nor cared what they were referring to, although their immature shouts had caused her to roll her eyes at first. After working there for four months, she had learned to ignore most of the clients after she had served them. She sometimes looked up in her spare time to observe a video game competition in the arcade area, but other than that, she spent her time fantasizing about Lucas and putting her pompous history professor in a birdcage.

So when the bearded customers started up with their hooting expletives once more, Angie had been mentally undressing her neighbor, totally unaware of the situation. But as she heard the telltale ringing of the bell above the door of the establishment, she realized that she would soon be forced to work again. As it turned out, this was not the least of her problems. The motorists' yells grew as the newer patrons entered, compelling the employee to look up, disgruntled, to see what was happening.

Five people had come inside: two ethereal girls, both with thin blonde hair and large brown eyes – they could only be sisters, they looked exactly alike - wearing rather abnormal clothing; another female with dark, short curly hair pinned back with a hair band, wearing a silver medal around her neck; a lanky young man with thick glasses and hair in his face (neither of which covered the detail that he was quite cute, Angie noticed); and standing to the back, another guy whose face and body were shrouded by a wide-brimmed hat and elongated coat.

It only took her a second to realize that the men in the booth were howling crudely at the girls. Groaning, she rose, knowing that she would have to intervene as politely as possible if she wished to keep her job. It angered her, though, not being able to truly tell off these men – she had been subjected to a good number of harassments in her day.

However, the veiled man was closer than she. Before Angie could even make it around the counter, he had walked over to the motorists' booth and said something she was too far away to hear. They did not respond immediately – rather, they had roared with even more joviality – but he did not seem deterred. Instead of backing down, he had leaned over their table and pushed back the brim of his hat so they could see his face.

Angie could not see any of his features, for his back was to her. Whatever was beneath his fedora, though, caused the two men to become silent right away, their faces clouded with shock and horror. Their expressions caused her to give a tiny vindictive giggle. Her ex-boyfriend Neil had read enough comic books in her presence so that she merely believed the man had an oddly shaped scar or disfigurement – a slash across his eye would fit him well, she thought, given the fact that he was standing up for women. Possibly, he had received it in a bar fight, defending a girl from a fresh pool player.

She was positive that was the sort of thing Lucas would sacrifice his good looks for.

Grinning languorously, she returned to her position behind the counter as the cloaked man pulled the brim of his hat back down. Had Angie been paying more attention, she would have caught a flash of blue as he returned his hand to his pocket. But all she noticed was that the older blonde girl gave the guy a small, grateful smile as he claimed a booth on the opposite side of the motorists' wall. A little disappointed that he would not approach the counter, she sobered up as the other four of the party came up to place their order.

However, when it came to hard-to-get men, Angie Barough was the leading expert. For an instant, she felt a flash of guilt as she pictured Lucas' dark green eyes, but shrugged it off. They weren't dating yet. She could spare a couple glances at the guy in the booth that night.

Grabbing the largest cup size they had, she asked the patrons to wait temporarily. Then, she dashed out into the dining area to the soda machine, filling the paper container with a mixture of ice and Coke before placing a lid over the brim and poking a straw through the covering. Finally, inhaling excitedly, she marched over to the man with as much bravery as possible.

"On the house," she told him breathlessly, setting the beverage down in front of him. She saw the brim of his hat rise minimally as he looked up at her, still shadowing his face. For a brief, terrifying moment, she wondered if he would turn it down, and began to brace herself for the intense embarrassment she was about to battle.

But before she could truly prepare her pride for the blow she was sure she was about to receive, he extracted his hand from his pocket and grabbed the drink in front of him. It took Angie a bit to realize that the appendage only had three big fingers, rather than five, and that his skin was blue. She almost started, prior to seeing that he had lifted the brim of his hat, allowing her to see his face.

His countenance was also a dark midnight blue, and covered with scars that she could only assume were for decoration. Blinking in surprise at how close her imagined disfigurement had been to the real thing, she took in his benign amber eyes and fanged teeth, both features forming a small smile – bizarrely stunning.

"Thank you," he muttered, raising the cup in a rudimentary toast and giving a slight nod. Angie heard what might have been a German accent in his tone.

"You're welcome," she told him, grinning back amorously. Then, whipping around so the string of her mandatory apron might have grazed him, she headed back to the counter to take the order of the rest of his party.

* * *

All that remained of the quintet's dinner was a circular tray, home to a sparse amount of pizza crust crumbs. There were five soda cups littering the table as well, four of which were empty. Kurt had been savoring his drink the entire night, still pleasantly shocked by the female employee's direct coquetry. Apparently she had been quite impressed when he had scared the motorists, and he couldn't help but feel a little like the dashing hero he had read about and watched so much of when he was younger. In fact, it was the best emotion he'd experienced in the past half year. 

As much as it pained him to admit, even to himself, he was having some difficulty transitioning to life in America. As a teenager, Kurt had always longed for adventure, especially in the United States, where everything was shiny and new, where police patrolled the streets and gangs could be taken down by a couple of men in trench coats with good left hooks.

But when he had finally arrived, all he had found was a frightening new world. To add to his misery, he was completely and utterly alone. Gone were the wet, grassy nights of Germany – in their place was a land where magma had issued from a crack in the planet's surface, spreading and hardening until its nooks and crannies formed cold hard sidewalks and buildings. Gone were the friendly, caring faces of his family and friends. Instead, people had reacted so negatively to his appearance that he had taken to dressing as heavily as possible while not performing, even with his company.

He had not, as of yet, made any real connections to the other people in his new circus. After their initial impressions, he found it tricky to break through their iciness towards him. Actually, the only person to have truly recovered after being genuinely startled now sat before him.

Judy was on the other side of the booth, staring over at the three other children as they played a rather noisy video game involving two corporeal motorcycle replicas. Tony and Linda sat upon these objects, while Gwen supplied a good part of the din with her cries of "Get 'em! _Get 'em_!"

Kurt had been watching them at first, mildly interested by the gaudy colors and staggering violence on the screens. Now his eyes had traveled over to his companion, a girl who was either in college or just about to enter. She had been somewhat frosty to him as they had driven over, and had not warmed up to him until the argument with the motorists. For that, she had been just as happily astonished as the waitress, thanking him profusely when they sat down, which he'd appreciated.

They had all talked in length while they ate, Kurt still wary of his hands being seen by someone other than the female employee. However, he hadn't eaten for a while, and soon gave in to his hunger, devouring the meal ravenously. His mouth had been full for most of dinner, so he had allowed Gwen to narrate the explanation of why Judy should not alert her parents to his presence.

They had appeared to resonate within the girl, especially the part about Stefan's death (his niece naturally had not given all the details, not wishing to ruin Kurt's luck). At that part, he had set down the pizza and concentrated intently on the claw game, trying to keep his mind blank as he usually did when he thought about his brother and the circumstances of his demise. He had gained some comfort and surprise, though, when Judy had reached across the table and patted his hand sympathetically.

When Gwen had finished relating his story to the enraptured teen, she had readily agreed not to tell her mother and father. "They're acting like asses anyway," she said, shrugging. "They don't need to know about you."

This reasoning was perfectly fine with Kurt. A kept secret was a kept secret, no matter how many people became involved.

So he had entertained himself by observing Gwen and Tony constantly smiling naively at each other, while Judy and Linda argued. It was nice to see two young people experience with such tremulous emotions and the siblings' interactions, although he did suffer a few twangs of jealousy, for both were things he had recently lost. But far be it from him to begrudge anyone those joys.

After the entire pizza had been consumed, Linda (who had taken a welcome shine to Kurt, continually asking him how many injuries he had sustained during his years of trapeze work) had converted the cash on hand into tokens for use in the arcade. Both Kurt and Judy had declined the younger children's invitation to join them, instead choosing to remain seated. They hadn't talked much, but he sensed that she preferred to remain quiet if there was nothing to be said.

He had, however, inquired as to the status of Gwen and Tony's relationship. The girl had not given a clear answer in their correspondence, only stating that she herself did not know. This lack of clarity was what prompted him to ask a regular spectator.

"I don't know at all," Judy had replied, studying the kids as they raced in their virtual terrain. "I've never seen them kiss or anything, but maybe that's cuz they're shy."

"She's not shy," he interjected immediately, actually causing the girl to grin.

"Um...I've noticed...look, what does it matter? I guess it'll sort itself out, y'know?"

Kurt nodded, still watching the boy and girl closely. He had decided, over both the course of the evening and the last few months, that he really did not like the idea of his niece dating anyone, although she herself had stated the explanation for this wariness the previous summer: he did, in truth, consider her as something of a little sister, and felt the urge to protect her from heartbreak.

However, from all of the boys she could have chosen, he begrudgingly determined that Tony was all right. As far as he had shown, the teenager did not mind the older man's appearance whatsoever, and treated both him and his niece with respect. Both of these were benefits, especially when compared to the motorists from earlier that evening. They had left soon after Kurt's intervention, without leaving, much to his displeasure, a tip for their waitress. He planned to rectify this when they left.

"Mm. I suppose," he conceded, sighing quietly. "I know what it must be like for them...you probably do as well, at your age, if you don't mind me saying."

"Sounds better coming from you than the wall of a bathroom stall," Judy muttered darkly, chipping morosely at her garish yellow nail polish.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh...nothing." Her scowl diminished as she observed her sister drive into livestock in her video game, computer-generated blood splattering across the screen.

"Aw, no – left, go _left_! Stupid machine!" Linda hollered, hitting the handlebars of her motorcycle. "_Damn_ it!"

"Ha! Yes!" Tony was shouting excitedly, throwing his hands in the air as he was pronounced winner. "Told you I was I better driver!"

And with that exclamation, he reached over, grabbed Gwen around the waist, and kissed her as though her had just defeated unimaginable evil with a snap of his fingers. She did not object, but instead reciprocated with as much enthusiasm.

"See," Judy told him, gesturing over at the pair, while Linda rolled her eyes amicably, noticeably unimpressed. "They get emotional like this occasionally – never seen this before, though - but still, no one knows what's going on. I can't wait until I'm not grounded anymore; I won't have to watch this."

"Oh, boy" was all Kurt was capable of at the moment, as he slumped over in his seat.

* * *

Angie hummed happily as she dug through her purse for her keys. It was the first time in a while that she had been cheerful as she stood at the door of her apartment, without the threat of homework or vulgar motorists hanging over her head. Not to mention the fact that she had met a nice guy, restoring her faith in men that wavered the longer she went without talking to Lucas. 

She was so absorbed in her joyful thoughts as she searched for her key chain that she did not notice the object of her affections was actually standing next to her, performing a hunt similar to hers in his pockets.

"Er – hi, Angie," he said, and she snapped out of her reverie.

"Huh? Oh, hey, Lucas!" She smiled hugely, feeling a huge surge of warmth rush through her body.

"How, uh, how are you?" he inquired, stopping his quest to face her. He began to rub the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly looking for something to do with his hands.

"Good. I'm good. Listen, if a pool player was harassing a defenseless girl in a bar, would you risk getting cut with a broken beer bottle in a fight to protect her?"

Lucas looked adorably nonplussed. "Well, I...yeah, I would. Civic duty, I guess. Why?"

She did not answer him, but instead took hold of his shoulders and pulled him towards her before planting a quick, joyful kiss on his mouth.

"Pick me up here at seven next Wednesday. We'll go...I don't know, to the movies or something. Bye!"

"I...er...okay," he said as he viewed Angie unlocking, entering, and shutting the door to her apartment, a large grin growing on his thin, striking face.


End file.
